Finally

Finally

Finally will it not be enough,
after much living, after
much love, after much dying
of those you have loved,
to sit on the porch near sundown
with your eyes simply open,
watching the wind shape the clouds
into the shape of clouds?

Even then you will remember
the history of love, shaped
in the shape of flesh, everchanging
as the clouds that pass, the blessed
yearning of body for body,
unending light.
You will remember, watching
the clouds, the future of love.

- Wendell Berry, from A Timbered Choir

Summer Bucket List

“Day by day nothing seems to change but pretty soon everything is different” Calvin and Hobbes

This past week I got done with the first year of grad school in the social work program. Finished the presentations and turned in papers and did two take home exams and …. then we all got done. At a monumental time like this, my feelings can be best expressed from a monologue from the super smash hit 90s blockbuster film Clueless:

“I’d like thank my parents, for never giving me a ride to school. The LA city bus driver, for taking a chance on an unknown kid and the fine people of McDonalds for making those little Egg McMuffins without which, I might have never been tardy” (DOES ANYONE ELSE REMEMBER THAT?)

Jump back to real life. SRSLY, I’d like to shout-out to owl Purdue, you ivy league birdy, for helping me through every single citation I’ve ever done and to the NASW Code of Ethics for keeping me honest. The year went by so fast even though some of those days felt soooo looonnng. I know I changed somewhere in there in probably lots of different ways, and I know I’ve met some great people in the program that I am thankful to know. Seriously, that has been by far the best part.

Right now, I am so thankful to have a break.

I remember at the beginning of the summer when I was a kid I would get so excited and literally think the long days of summer would never ever end. And this summer is especially sweet because I have a job that I like a stupid lot with people that I like a crazy lot too. More to the point, no school means no homework which means unknown and uncharted free time on nights and weekends. Without the structure of school sometimes (all the time) my tendency is to be lazy and do what comes easy-which is to lay around and daydream and wonder around downtown and sit in different coffee shops all the live long day while I thoroughly facebook stalk each and every one of you to my satisfaction.This is the thing about facespace- She/He/Shim/It and I have a real love/hate thing going. Sometimes the 'book and I are the two best friends anyone has ever seen. Facebook helps me get through those super long classes, helps me stalk people I may or may not know and helps me make you people think I am more clever than I actually am. But sometimes the facebook is super hateful to me and lets me sit around for HOURS and go through picture after picture AFTER PICTURE until I am convinced that there are at least 500 people who are just crusing through life being skinnier than me, writing funnier blogs than I write, getting married, having babies, taking great vacations, eating great food (that for some reason they choose to take pictures of- people eat. your. food). These people probably sleep 8 hours a night, never stutter, don’t apologize profusely and probably don’t drool on their pillows or lose their stuff ALL THE TIME. Point is, I sit there on the facebook and make up stories for every single one of you (and all of you have great lives, btw. You’re done very well for yourselves. Your mothers are proud) ... and that’s when the facespace starts to give me The Big Sads. AND what’s worse, is that I’ve now got netflix. That is the Crystal Meth of lazy people. So the point is I’m not very good at moderating myself or moderation in general and I come from a long line of people not good at moderation, those people being the human race. I need goals that function as little reminders of what I’m going to spend this sweet time during summer doing rather than totally wasting it. I need like a summer syllabus, of sorts. This syllabus is all about finding myself a rhythm, and I love me some rhythm. This rhythm is going to include more intentional time with friends by way of taking walks or making phone calls or writing snail mail. I will make trips to hobby lobby (Mecca) so I can learn to be more artsy fartsy (lifelong goal) , take more long runs downtown and read BOOKS.
SO here’s my summer syllabus ‘O Not-Wasting-My-Freetime-Fun.

1. Quit Smoking/ Keep running. I set a goal at the beginning of the year to run 4 5K’s this year- So far I’ve run 2 of the 4. Truth be told, I am just not a very good runner. My roommate of the mostest (who is actually is a good runner) wrote a blog about running and she said that even if you’re really no good at it, who cares. and who even knows. I used to hear people say that they LOVED running and I would think, I love the beach. I love really good nights sleep and cuddling and peanut butter but I do not love to RUN. I thought these mysterious people galloped and pranced and danced along the same pavement that made feel like that little place underneath my right rib was being repeatedly stabbed by a sharp object. But the more I do it, and the longer I go without my beloved ciggys, I find that I really do look forward to putting on my new running shoes and getting my rib stabbed. What I’m saying is, I’ve actually started to like it. And I literally NE-VAH thought that would be the case. So I’ll accept it as a gift that I’ve turned into “one of those people” and be thankful that will (hopefully) only get easier.

2. Rebind my bible- This is my teen study bible and it has been with me since freshman year of high school. Since that time, it has gone to church and parks here and there and all over the southeast, to Europe and the beach. If my bible could talk it would tell you all about the coffee stains and where the ink bled all over and how I love the beauty of the Old Testament in Isaiah and Psalms but not so much of the stuff about goats and pork and blood in Leviticus. It would also say, listen woman, is there no rest for the weary, plz just buy a new one. And I did that. Several new ones over the years but that Teen Study bible just has a special place in my little heart. It is the best of all Bibles. So I’m going to give it a little do-it-yourself- face lift and see if I can’t rebind with the help of some interweb directions and a pilgrimage to Hobby Lobby (moment of silence). It is and has always been my goal to be more artsy fartsy. I will possibly blog in the future about these endeavors. If they are successful. If they fail, I will never mention them again as to save face around the rest of you fabulous facebook people. duh.

3. Go to the Farmers Market. This makes me looooooove Knoxville. Saturday morning the summer time is the greatest of all mornings because I wake up and roll around in bed like a sloth for as long as I damn well please. I drink coffee and eat cereal out of the box with my fingers and finally put on some “I am a downtown dwelling, hobby lobby shopping, wanting to be hippier than I actually am twenty-something” outfit and walk to the Farmer’s market. and I find this

And This:

Thats Ferd Moyse IV from Hackensaw Boys and he is a treasure. He is sitting on a old suitcase that he’s using a kick drum with his right foot and kicking a tambourine that’s taped to his left foot while he plays the violin (which I’m sure he calls “the fiddle”) while he is singing. and I wish the blog could live stream the music because this just doesn’t do it justice. ‘twas awesome. I will buy food and spend time with Ferd and then spend Saturday afternoon cooking with some of these foods I buy there. Something with sweet potatoes or eggs or strawberries. Will let you have some iffen its edible. if not, see the end of #2.


4. TAN- The good ole fashion natural way too. By the pool being ever so precious with my besties. Boy oh Boy am I glad that I am not one of those poor unfortunate souls that gets talked into buying a package at the tanning bed and then decides she LIKES IT. That chick started keeping her plastic space-suit like eyewear in her purse all the time. That way, anytime she’s out after she’s bought herself her Sonic for happy hour she can suddenly decide she needs to tan, pull the car across three lanes of traffic on Kingston Pike all so she can fake-and-bake on demand. That girl is so shallow that the poor thing probably sits and looks at facebook until she wants to cry and talks about Sonic so much that people at school bring her sonic coupons. (As I take a long pull from my sonic happy hour diet cherry limeade) Man alive, people these days.

5. Find me man. This is a big one. ISO some boy who is social worky/bordering on socialist who loves Jesus and is wonderfully interesting and absolutely hilarious and plays music and has a beard and is looking for same. Except that boy is looking for a girl. (Me.) and I don’t play music. So. yeah. But he is probably already snatched up by one of you 500 girls (or guys. GAH) with beautiful and amazingly fabulous lives. or more likely, he’s probably found an Asian because if there’s one thing I know about guys, its that love Asian girls. Please explain this to much sometime that I haven’t already totally depressed myself looking at skinny people on facebook.

6. Read a whole buncha books. readreadreadreadread. I like to read but i have to tear myself away from facebook and stop daydreaming long enough to do that. And i really do like to run (kind of) but I have to remind myself of that every single day when i want to lay bed and stare up at the ceiling and let daydreaming movies play in my head.

Thanks for reading. This was long. You're a beautiful person. Ask me sometime about the movie I made up in my head about you while I looked at all 2048 pictures of you and your boo on facebook. I'll describe the entire feature length film. With Bloopers.

Walk Slowly & Bow Often.

When I am Among the Trees

- Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself

in which I have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple!” they say,

“and you too have come

into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine.”

dr. maya angelou

Caged Bird

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

-Maya Angelou

In and Out of Time

The Sun has come out

The Mists have gone

We see in the distance

Our long way home

I was yours to love

You were always mine

We have belonged together

In and out of time

When the first stone looked

Up at the blazing sun

And the first tree struggled

From the forest floor

I loved you more

You were the rhythm on the head

Of the conga drum

And the brush of palm

On my nut brown skin

And I loved you then

We worked the cane

And cotton fields

We trod together

The city streets

Wearied by labor

Bruised by cruelty

Strutting and sassy

To our inner beat

And all the while

Lord, how I loved your smile

You’ve freed your braids

Gave you hair to the breeze

It hummed like a hive

Of busy bees

I reached into the mass

For the honeycomb there

God, how I loved your hair

You saw me bludgeoned

By circumstance

Injured by hate

And lost to chance

Legs that could be broken

But knees that would not bend

Oh, you loved me then

I raked the Heaven’s belly

With torrid screams

I fought to turn

Nightmares into dreams

My protests were loud

And brash and bold

My, how you loved my soul

The sun has come out

The mists have gone

We see in the distance

Our long way home

I was yours to love

And you were always mine

We have belonged together

In and out of time

the best lately.

The other day I was walking my happy Sunday self to church and this happyself was pleasantly surprised to see two usual Remedy suspects in Market Square. As I was talking to them usual suspect number 1 (Josh Birkebak) said about usual suspect number 2 (Drew Norris): “Drew loves words.” I swear, it was like showing up to a party where someone was wearing your dress. Take. it. off. I had it on first. I said, “I DO! Me too! I LOVE WORDS.”Happyself hadn’t thought to make that declaration at that point at the conversation and suddenly I became weirdlydefensiveself. Usual suspect number 2 remains calm. To metaphorically strut my stuff in my dress, I say it again: “I really love love words. okay?“. Usual suspect 2. "Okay."Most of my 24 years of life I've been wearing that dress like skin. All myselves, happyself, lonelyself, sadself, youngself, nowself, futureself love the collection of words on the page.

“And I begin to string words together words together like beads to tell a story” Anne Lamott.

This love of words in general and how they are strung together for sentences, paragraphs, poems, novels, memoirs, etc.etc.etc., I have developed a habit slash obsession with looking up quotes. Hours, people. HOURS. This is a throw back as early as middle school, back in AOL days when I would write down quotes about love (“love”) and dot all my i’s with hearts. Because I heart words. From then until now until forever and ever amen. It’s “self-care”, it’s interesting, and clarifying and snapshot of bigger moment. Here’s what I do: I put two names in quotes with the word quote right after it. “Ernest Hemingway” “Mary Oliver” quotes. And then I sit in Blackbird on Saturday morning and instead of writing my CTE I read excerpts from “A Farewell to Arms”. Which I will copy and paste on to my quote page where Hemingway will end up right beside lines from Pulp Fiction that I looked up last week and which are right above Mary Oliver and Willa Cather. These people would make strange bed fellows all together because I’m pretty sure Jules and Vincent would probably try and act like gentlemen but would more than likely scare the hell out of Mary Oliver. Understandably so. She’d probably write an amazing poem about it that I would love to read. So this is what I do. Some of you might not think this is a rocking great time. I don’t know what to tell you other that I'm sad for you. And this is a selection of the best. Lately.

"If you really want a challenge, just deal with yourself."— Tori Amos

"Inelegantly, and without my consent, time passed."— Miranda July (No One Belongs Here More Than You)

"If Jesus was right, these are all my brothers and sisters. And they are so letting themselves go." Anne Lamott

"i carry your heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,
my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate,
my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world,
my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)"— E.E. Cummings

#70"For some it is harder towrite a novel than to row a bathtub across the North Atlantic."— James N. Frey (How to Write a Damn Good Novel: A Step-by-Step No Nonsense Guide to Dramatic Storytelling)

who pays any attentionto the syntax of thingswill never wholly kiss you"— E.E. Cummings

"I would like to perfect the art of being studiously aloof"— Ani DiFranco (Ani DiFranco - Little Plastic Castle)

"While the sad, galloping wind murders butterfliesI love you, and my happiness bites into the plum of your mouth . . .I want to do with youwhat spring does to the cherry trees." -Neruda

"She would have been a good woman," The Misfit said,"if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."-- Flannery O'Connor, "A Good Man is Hard to Find"

"everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing,though sometimes it is necessaryto reteach a thing its loveliness" -- G. Kinnell

Relax. Only 1/6.5 billionth of this is about you. Bumper Sticker.

You’ve got to love this in a God—consistently assembling the motleyest people to bring, into the lonely and frightening world, a commitment to caring and community.
— Anne Lamott
"No, I don't like work. I had rather laze about and think of all the fine things that can be done. I don't like work -- no man does -- but I like what's in the work -- the chance to find yourself. Your own reality -- for yourself, not others -- what no other man can know. They can only see the mere show, and can never tell what it means." Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"Speak to us about the deepest yearning of our hearts, about our many wishes, about hope; not about the many strategies for (mere) survival, but about trust; not about new methods of satisfying our emotional needs, but about love. Speak to us about a vision larger than our changing perspectives and about a voice deeper than the clamorings of our mass media. Yes, speak to us about something or someone greater than ourselves. Speak to us about God."--Henri J.M. Nouwen

"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living"— Jonathan Safran Foer (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)

Christians whose loyalty to the Prince of Peace puts them out of step with today’s nationalistic world, because they are willing to love their nation’s friends but not to hate their nation’s enemies, are not unrealistic dreamers who think that by their objections they will end all wars. On the contrary, it is the soldiers who think they can put an end to wars by preparing for just one more.
— John Howard Yoder

Mia: I do believe Marsellus Wallace, my husband, your boss, told you to take ME out and do WHATEVER I WANTED. Now I wanna dance, I wanna win. I want that trophy, so dance good. Pulp Fiction.

Jules: Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved. Pulp Fiction.

"Nothing that God ever made is the same thing to more than one person. "— Zora Neale Hurston

"Have your adventures, make your mistakes, and choose your friends poorly -- all these make for great stories."— Chuck Palahniuk

"We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it's our job to invent something better."— Chuck Palahniuk (Asfixia)

Each must enter the nest made by the other imperfect birds" Rumi

There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It is so self-conscious, so apparently moral, simply to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. I won't have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus. Annie Dillard

Try looking at your mind as a wayward puppy that you are trying to paper train. You don't drop-kick a puppy into the neighbor's yard every time it piddles on the floor. You just keep bringing it back to the newspaper."— Anne Lamott

The Christian writer does not decide what would be good for the world and proceed to deliver it. Like a very doubtful Jacob, he confronts what stands in his path and wonders if he will come out of the struggle at all.– Flannery O’Connor

Nationalism is an infantile disease; it is the measles of mankind. Einstein

If there is any meaning in the life of Jesus of Nazareth, it is this: that there is a God who created us, and who loves us so much that He would stop at nothing to bring us to Him. And I really suspect that of all the things we think we want to know, the only thing we really want to know is that we are loved. And if Jesus means anything, He means that you are loved. I hope you know that. And I hope you stop worrying about all the stuff you don't know, because I don't think it amounts to a hill of beans. Rich Mullins. Arrows pointing toward heaven

I think that all these doctrinal statements that all the congregations come up with over the years are basically just not very worthwhile. I don't mean to sound mean toward the people who came up with them. I understand in the past there have been many heretical movements, and we still need to maintain sound doctrine... But I think our real doctrine is that doctrine that is born out in our character. I think you can profess the Apostles' Creed until Jesus returns, but if you don't love somebody, you never were a Christian.
Rich Mullins

"There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for."— Albert Camus

"If the gospel isn't good news for everybody, then it isn't good news for anybody. And this is because the most powerful things happen when the church surrenders its desire to convert people and convince them to join. It is when the church gives itself away in radical acts of service and compassion, expecting nothing in return, that the way of Jesus is most vividly put on display. To do this, the church must stop thinking about everybody primarily in categories of in or out, saved or not, believer or nonbeliever. Besides the fact that these terms are offensive to those who are the "un" and "non", they work against Jesus' teachings about how we are to treat each other. Jesus commanded us to love our neighbor, and our neighbor can be anybody. We are all created in the image of God, and we are all sacred, valuable creations of God. Everybody matters. To treat people differently based on who believes what is to fail to respect the image of God in everyone. As the book of James says, "God shows no favoritism." So we don't either."— Rob Bell

"You do not know how long you are in a river when the current moves swiftly. It seems a long time and it may be very short. The water was cold and in flood and many things passed that had been floated off the banks when the river rose. I was lucky to have a heavy timber to hold on to, and I lay in the icy water with my chin on the wood, holding on as easily as I could with both hands."- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, Chapter 31

Left to its own devices, her mind is a fat hummingbird flitting through leafy trees of anxiety, apology, sorrow, excuses, and dreams of grandeur, dreams of humiliation. Sometimes she watches it run off, and it makes her laugh and shake her head. It's like a video game. Bright fast blips of worry and anger come at her, and, after fending them off, she's attacked by the huge lumbering Czechoslovakian blobs of tiredness and broken-spiritedness which break into small, faster missiles of regret when she fires at them. What a half-baked species we are, she thinks, and does what she can to make her insides more habitable. Anne Lamott, Joe Jones

The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shock-proof, shit detector. This is the writer's radar and all great writers have had it.(Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961), U.S. author. First published in Paris Review (Flushing, NY, spring 1958). Interview in Writers at Work, Second Series, ed. George Plimpton (1963).)

"...there are two types of people in the world: those who prefer to be sad among others, and those who prefer to be sad alone."— Nicole Krauss (The History of Love)

Ever since there have been men, man has given himself over to too little joy. That alone, my brothers, is our origianl sin. I should believe only in a God who understood how to dance. Henri Matisse.

"Every artist has a basic premise pervading his whole life, and that premise can provide the impulse to everything he creates. For me the dominating premise has been the need for understanding and tenderness and fortitude among individuals trapped by circumstance." Tennessee Williams

"And now the old story has begun to write itself over there," said Carl softly. "Isn’t it queer: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in this country, that have been singing the same five notes for thousands of years."— Willa Cather (O Pioneers!)

"I am a man. Nothing human is alien to me." Montagne

"it is now hard to leave the country but it is in no way impossible."- Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, Chapter 33

still learning.

Wild Geese. Mary Oliver.

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Let's climb trees.

twitching.

This is basically just a bunch of junk rattling around in my head that I don’t have time to be thinking about much less blogging about, much less blogging about in an unapologetically disorganized, non-sequential (GRE word, that was free), too many (parenthesis), messy mucky run-on sentencey way. Whateva, whateva, this is my blog. I do what I want. You don’t have to read it (please do, I like you. Sparkles to you).


So this blogging business lately has been out of control. All this time I spend staring at this screen I could be working a school stuff, not the least of which is an assignment called a CTE which social work speak stands for Critical Thinking Exercise. It is no coincidence that CTE rhymes with ‘harder than this has to be’. That is the little sing-song that plays in my head while I’m sitting at Golden Roast. “CTE, harder than this hasss toooo beeeee.“ It also rhymes with, ‘damn I hate this’.. (oh wait no it doesn’t, my bad.) Sometimes when I think about writing my CTE, my eye twitches. I’m not kidding. It twitches. Seeing as how I already have a habit singing to myself and laughing out loud to myself, and talking to myself (sometimes with hand gestures), all of this alone in public, I feel like a twitching eye makes me look just on that wrong side of crazy. So when I’m trying to procrastinate and quell the twitch, instead of watching TV or sports or fantasy football (that’s you people), I resort to Internet. Where the blogs flows like milk and honey. To stop your eye from twitching too, here is the regular beat of blogs I patrol. Just what the I doctor ordered (pun intended always):



Kelle Hampton: Click on that and try not to pee on yourself before you even scroll down. The background on my computer are pictures of this woman’s children. Read Nella’s Birth story. Generally I don’t ready every entry, I just scroll down and look at her blissfully beautiful photography of the “almond-eyed one and wispy one” and vicariously live through these children’s sidewalk chalk and beach trips every single beautiful shot as they stare back at the the camera that’s always in their face with the doting mama behind it. I hope they are 1 and 5 forever. I will never dress as well as these children or Kelle herself, who’s skinnier than me even after having 2 kids (twitch, twitch). When Nella got glasses, I didn’t know if I could hold it all in:





MODG. Martinis or Diaper Genies. I have no words, Modg. Laughing outloud at the computer myself hot blogtastic mess this is. This is where I get the phrase sparkle hearts, NBD, BD, among other phrases. I straight-up steal from her because I envy her skillz and wit and honesty and hot husband. She’s pregnant and hasn’t named the baby so she refers to it as plankton, or planky for short. She tries to get readers to buy tranny shoe memberships from Kim Kardashian. Bathroom humor, confession fridays, among a million other hilarious and random things. I could go on. MODG, You are the Lebron James of blogging, the matriarch of all bloggessness. Anywhere. Everywhere. Amen.

ALSO, I have a few people in real life who blog’s are pretty wicked too. Like this girl. Morgan Harris Trinker. This is her wedding, which I talked about so adnausem to my roommates while they were wedding planning that they asked me to stop. I didn’t. Now I just say, Have I ever to you about my friend Morgan? The bees knees. All that trendy speak that just means awesome. I want to fake my own wedding or pregnancy just to get her to take my picture. Or better yet, actually get married. I’ll keep y’all posted on both of those. And at Morgan’s wedding (have I mentioned Morgan’s wedding?) one of her bridesmaid was Amy Pratt. Thereisgaymaninmycloset. If I were to have a girl-crush on a blog other than MODG, it would be this one. (Settle down Tara, I’m just crushing on the blog)

So there are some others but these are the favs. But ya know, sometimes even the blogs don’t ease the pain, the grad school blues, the single girl swag (or lack there of). and it’s then time to bring out the big guns. I think you know where I’m going with this. Those days that you feel like your mood and your ‘tude need a time out. You might have sat and mighta cried through yet another beautiful wedding. Came directly home and stood at the kitchen counter and before your diet knows what your face is doing to tell you WOMAN NO you are dipping chocolate chip pancakes into peanut butter icing. WHAT? These are my confessions, Usher-style. For all those times I feel like I have gotten punked by my own estrogen. Just like all those dumb girls I judge, I am one. I am them. They are me. I am straight-up she-fool. who am I gonna call? Not ghostbusters, kids, but Bridget Jones. YES. Ahhhh it’s just so rich and great and sickeningly comforting to me the extent to which this slightly chubby and very awkward version of Renée Zellweger pre-Kenny Chesney annulment reminds me of myself. The sequel is not as good. You don’t repeat something wonderful. (Ask all those UT fans still sporting 1996 championship t-shirts about that). Did you learn nothing from Home Alone and Karate Kid, Bridget?? Where were you in the 90s? Oh thats rights, you were busy being awkward and female and trying to get Hugh Grant to love you. All the women in the world baptized in estrogen and licking peanut butter icing off their fingers salute you. To blogs and to Bridget.