Be careful little eyes what you see...

I love Jane Austen. I say that without hesitation or reservation or shame. I have read most of her novels, seen the (good, i.e. non-Kiera or Gwyneth versions) movie adaptations and quote her randomly in conversation. I'm one of those people who read or watch her works and find myself sighing, longing, yearning for my own impossible, yet wonderful "happily ever after". I love getting to the end of one of her books (or movies), after all of the obstacles and conflicts and misunderstandings and waiting, to find a happy resolution...i.e. the people I wanted to be in love and together in that exact state. And, if I'm honest, I find myself longing for my own "happy resolution"...a pleasing end to my waiting.

As yet, mine has not come and I've resigned myself to the notion that it likely will not.

Since that resignation, I've mostly been ok. Obviously, there is a grieving process, but mostly I've been fine. That is, until I watched "Lost in Austen" last night.

Up until that time, I'd sort of unintentionally refrained from watching love stories or listening to love songs. I say unconsciously because I didn't set out to NOT watch or listen to those things as much as I set out to saturate my life with things that agree with what God has called good and right and pure and true for me right now. Romance is not part of that.

But, last night, after a day-long migraine, I settled in to edit some pics and saw "Lost in Austen" on Netflix and decided to give it a go, because, as I said, I love Jane Austen.

In hindsight, this was a bad move. It was not long before my heart started swelling and aching and yearning and aching some more. It was not long before I was sighing...and then crying. And, in the end, I was only aware of what I had "lost", what I was "lacking", that I was somehow "less than" everyone else.

I'm fighting for faith, to own what is good and right and pure and true, to agree with God that this life IS good...but its still a fight.

As I fight, I'm reminded of that children's song "Oh, Be Careful Little Eyes."

"Be careful little eyes what you see...be careful little ears what you hear..."

When one is clinging with feeble and fickle and frustrated fingers to the ledge of grace, it is best to refrain from surrounding oneself with that which exalt the things God has said "no" to. Doing so is about as unwise as a surfer, who broke his leg surfing, going out on his board the next day. Time is necessary to heal and to rebuild strength before venturing out into the water again.

So, for now, I wait...and refrain from Austen as I heal.

Just. Not. Right.

Normally, I whole-heartedly love, support and endorse the things I read on my favorite blog of ALL TIME, thepioneerwoman.com. Well...with the exception of her calf testicle fascination, of course. But, when I visited today, I saw something so horrifying, so completely inappropriate, so totally unnecessary, something so flagrantly in violation of food mixing rules that I was catatonic for a full 5 seconds. I am left to assume that someone, some strange, anti-social, food-rule-breaking person has hijacked her site and posted this atrocity.

Noodles...with peaches? And brown sugar?? Served with brisket???

I'm convinced this must be a sign of the apocalypse or some evil terrorist plot.

However, since I know P-Dub loves me...she told me so on twitter...and would never want to harm me or anyone else (with the exception of her brother-in-law "Pesky Tim" on an especially pesky day), and since I cannot possibly blame her for the actions of said anti-social, food-rule-breaking people...especially if they are terrorists...I will take a deep breath, journal my feelings about this unfortunate incident, pray that my lunch stays down and move on with my life.

Thank you for your time.

Morning

"Ti Ti!" She called, sweetly from my bedroom.

I rose from the sofa and walked into the room to find that she had hidden herself under the blankets.

"(Yawn) Oh, I'm so tired. I think I'm going to go back to sleep." I said, as I plopped on the bed next to her.

Faint giggling came from underneath the blankets, then a tiny, scrunched up face peeked out and began to laugh.

Her hands reached up to play with my hair as we said good morning and talked about her sleep and her dreams.

She rolled her eyes at me when I asked her if she had good dreams.

"Do you remember your dream?", I asked.

She just scrunched up her face again, then said "When I do your hair like this, you look dumb."

"Well, then, by all means, don't do that."

She laughed and continued.

"I love you, Ti Ti." She said.

"I love you, too, sweet girl." I replied.

Something in the way He moves...

If I had to name my most significant musical influence, I'd have to say it was my Daddy. Growing up, we always had music playing or Daddy played his guitar and let us sing along. He had an entire closet full of albums. "Albums" are round, plastic disks about the size of a pizza that have music on them. You play these "albums" on something called a "record player". Sometimes they make fuzzy, crackly, popping sounds. I used to love going to that closet full of albums, sometimes to pick something for Daddy to play, sometimes just to look at them and smell them. I loved the smell! It was a mix of plastic and cardboard. It was divine to me.

Daddy had very eclectic musical tastes and he imparted that on to me. Among that varied mix of styles and artists was one of his favorites...James Taylor. His music is like a hug to me. Its comforting and reminds me of days spent sitting at my dad's feet, watching him play the guitar and singing along with him.

The other day, I was listening to music by one of my new favorite artists, Brooke Fraser, and was surprised and delighted to hear her cover "Something in the Way She Moves" by James Taylor. Brooke changed the "she" to "he" and turned the song into a worship song. It was wonderful and worshipful and I've been singing it all week. Do yourself a favor and check it out...here.

Do yourself a bigger favor and buy her "album"...I think they are now called "CDs"...and they are smaller.

Sorry, Mr. Hobo...

I recently took up photography. Being largely self-taught, I often have to play around to get the kind of shot I want... which means a large number of my shots are throw-aways. I'm learning though. Part of that learning process is looking at other photographer's work. Aside from being just blown away by the talent out there, I examine their shots and try to figure out how they got them. I look for the light and the camera angle and try to determine if they used a reflector or not...and all sorts of other things that are not interesting to anyone who is not a photographer. Every so often, though, I see shots that make me want to do something drastic...some might call it "dramatic". I disagree. I am in no way dramatic. It is not at all dramatic to want to find a hobo and give him my camera, giving up photography all together. It is also not dramatic to imagine that said hobo might then become a famous street photographer, and that he might come to live in a modest apartment on top of a soup kitchen that he runs off of the proceeds from his thriving photography business...and that I might spend my days, cold and alone...and camera-less.

Not dramatic at all.

However, today, I didn't run into any hobos, so me and my camera are together to shoot another day. But, there's always tomorrow...

DWTS: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

1. Tom Bergeron. He's corny sometimes, but so quick-witted and way more likable than most TV hosts (cough *Seacrest* cough). However, no one can hold a candle to Cat Deely.

2. Those nice surprise moments when a person who has a reputation for being shallow and awful turns out to be really sweet and likable. Kelly Osborne? Who was prepared to just adore her? And, last night, Shannen "I will cut you" Doherty? Really? She had me in tears.

3. Louis Van Amstel. I just want to hug him.

4. They let "thick" women on the show and take them seriously.

5. Mark Ballas. He's just a sweetheart and is always willing to dance with a "thick" girl.

6. Though I typically hate the judging portions, I love the moment right before the judges give their feedback, when the dancers walk over and stand there for a moment and you can see the vulnerability on their faces. Like, last night when Neicey Nash was just overcome. She makes a living with her quick wit and she had no words. It was raw and real and I love that!

7. There are no horrifyingly painful auditions to watch. Really, this should be #1, because I can't tell you how much I hate watching auditions. It is one of the main reasons I don't watch American Idol. Humiliating people on purpose for the sake of "entertainment"? No thanks!

So, now that I've gotten all this off my chest...am I going to continue to watch the show? In all honesty, I don't know. The only reason I tuned in was out of morbid curiosity and to see Kate Gosslien fail. (I'm sorry. I'm a horrible person. I know) Now that I've done that and repented...I don't really see a point...unless I have a relapse of morbid curiosity and Kate-hating.

DWTS: How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.

1. Two hours of bad dancing. There are generally one or two bright shining moments of not so bad dancing, but it is usually way overshadowed by other badness.

2. Cheryl Burke. She thinks she is way more sexy and awesome than she really is, and if I were Giles Marini's wife, I'd deck her, help her stand up, then, I'd deck her again.

3. It gives undue attention to irrelevant people and/or famemongers.

4. Bruno. Every time he speaks, I want to turn the tv off. If he had his way, he'd make everyone raunchy and ridiculous.

5. Edyta. Seriously, she needs to eat a cookie (or 12) and get a personality...STAT.

6. Results shows. 58 minutes of drawn-out agony and pointlessness just to find out who is being sent home. I think this could be considered a form of torture.

7. How the audience boos when Simon...I mean, Len speaks the truth.

8. The costumes. Its like the costumers only know how to sew in "Tacky" or "Hoochie".

9. Brooke Burke. I'm sorry, but she's just not good, personalble or believable.

I like frozen diet meals...

I like frozen diet meals...

- not because they taste good. (they generally don't)

- not because they are cheap.

- not because they are quick, easy and convenient.

- not because the meat is typically real-tasting and non-scary. (it generally isn't)

- not because they fill me up.

- not because they resemble anything I'd eat on purpose.

I like frozen meals... because despite the fact that they are generally flavorless and unsatisfying to anyone who has ever had real food, ever in their life, they show me that I can survive on much less food than I thought, I can survive on food that isn't even good, and that every meal doesn't need to be a delectable feast. Food just needs to sustain me and nourish me. While I'm a bit uncertain as to whether or not frozen diet meals actually nourish me, they do keep me from being hungry and having all sorts of cravings all day...and that's a good thing.

I like frozen diet meals because they help me keep food in the "fuel" category and out of the "source of all comfort & joy" category. Cuz, honestly, if I'm seeking comfort and joy in a cup of bland pasta with dehydrated vegetables and slivers of questionable meat...there's something really wrong.

All things serve Him...

The Lord's decrees (his promises, his plans, his every word) stand fast, no matter what news we receive. A child has run away. A mother has cancer. A business has failed. The events in our private lives and the great catastrophes in the world do not budge the solid ground on which the Christian takes his position. How can this be? Are there not conditions which harm and hinder and destroy? Not in the end. There is nothing, on earth or in hell or heaven, in time or in eternity, which can alter in any final sense what God has promised--because all things serve Him.

A word in the Book of the Revelation shows this truth most gloriously. Ten great kings will join their powers with an enormously powerful beast to wage war on the Lamb. God does not intervene to prevent that war.

"But the Lamb will defeat them, for He is Lord of Lords and King of Kings, and his victory will be shared by His followers, called and chosen and faithful" (Rv 17:14 NEB).

All things serve Him. That is, everything will at last be seen to be under his control, contributing to his eternal purposes--and (here is another marvel) the Lamb's victory will be ours as well.

Lord, who has called and chosen us--make us faithful. Enable us to keep our eyes on the final victory.

~ Elizabeth Elliot on Revelation 17:14

Because...

- writing in point form is so much easier than doing it the "right way" with all the grammar rules I don't really understand.

- my current thought process is jumbled and congested and disjointed.

- i don't feel like proof-reading and finessing today.

For those reasons, and because...

- at 5pm yesterday I gave up on life.

- then, at 7pm, I decided to give it another go.

- and then at 9pm cried "Lord, I just need you!"...while on the potty...because those 2 hours of giving it a go again was more than I could handle.

And, because...

- I've given up on life approximately 73 times in the past 2 weeks.

- and, interestingly enough, only cried about 3 times.

- and, I've toyed with the idea of getting a cat, of all things.

- and my ovaries have been really mean to me.

- and I feel like I've had more disappointment than should be legal for one life-time.

- and I probably couldn't form a coherent thought if my life depended on it.

I blog in point form. I blog in point form about where I am right this minute...and where I've been and where I want to be.

Because...

- though I've given up on life approximately 73 times in the past 2 weeks, I've also been given reason to un-give up.

- that reason has nothing to do with fulfilled dreams or favorable circumstances and everything, only everything to do with a person who most people these days believe to be a myth, a fairy tale, a fantasy, a crutch for weak people.

- a person who most people these days ridicule and even hate.

- which I think is really funny considering they claim to believe He is a fairy tale.

- but I've met Him.

- I know Him.

- I love Him.

- and I know that there are others who claim to have had the same experience who tend to make Him about them... like them.

- that makes me sad because it gives the fairy tale people reason to hate and misunderstand and be angry.

- but, I know that when I am in the depths, He is there. He finds me there. And He gives me what I need to un-give up.

- I know that He is the only reason there is to un-give up. The only one that really makes a difference, anyway.

Because of that...

-though I gave up again at 6:53am, I un-gave up at 7:05.

- and giving up becomes harder.

-and un-giving up becomes easier.

- until it is no longer an option.

- and when it is, it won't be because I have money in the bank or a dream job or a man or ovaries that no longer hate me, but Because of Him. Only Because of Him.

And so it begins...

Yesterday was just downright good. I felt confident in the sacrifice God had called me to, encouraged by the confirmation He'd given through my daily readings and worship songs, and generally at peace with the whole thing. That is not to say there wasn't grief, but it was grief within the context of the reality of a sovereign God who cares for me and will give me "His best for what I thought was better." It was grief with hope...that this wouldn't hurt for ever...the loss wouldn't feel as deep as it does...that it will all be ok. Really.

But, as is always the way when we attempt to do hard things for the sake of God's glory, the enemy of our souls is there to try and do what he does: lie, steal and destroy.

It started early, thoughts whispered, images flashing in moments when I was alone and it was quiet. Thoughts and images that said, "you blew it", "you had a chance, then", "if only you'd...", "if only you hadn't...".

Lies.

All lies.

Still, like any good lie, there were dashes of truth thrown in. Memories of my own sin and failings and weaknesses and doubts and fears and selfishness. Even still...

Lies.

All lies.

"Coincidentally", this was in my reading this morning...

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled... Turn, O Lord, deliver my life; save me for the sake of your steadfast love.

And He did.

And, so it begins...the fight of faith. Not faith in a thing or an outcome or a favorable circumstance or even for ease, but faith in the One who bore my sins on the cross and bears my burdens, even now...One who is greater than the one who would lie, steal and destroy the gifts God has, is and will give me...and One who has promised to never leave or forsake me.

So...

Bring, it, hater. ;)

I'm resolved. My face is set like flint. And, even when I'm not, I can say "But, God is!"

"I lead a small life. Valuable, but small."

My dear friend, Mariann posted this on her blog and it made me smile, so I had to share. Plus, I figured after my very ranty post yesterday, I owed everyone something sweeter and lighter. :)

Outside my window ~ my office doesn't really have a window, but I can see the window in the break room through its plate glass door. Its bright and clear and looks like a good day to go for a refreshing walk. :)

Around the house ~ I'm not there now...but when I left it, there were a few piles of clothes, some misc. items that need homes (I've been doing some purging and organizing) and dishes in the sink that I'v been avoiding. "Dear Jesus, please let my next home have a dishwasher. Amen."

I am thankful for ~ mercy that is new every morning, God's relentless faithfulness, and Brooke Fraser music to listen to while I work.

Pondering these words ~ "I will sing praise with my spirit, but I will sing with my mind also." It was part of my reading yesterday, and I've been trying to make that a reality.

I am remembering~ That I have so much to do at home, but I promised my sister-in-law I'd go walking with her in the evenings. I'm also remembering what the scale said when I went to the doctor yesterday and just how much I need to go walking in the evenings.

Looking forward to ~ Seeing the kiddos on Friday and a toddler photo shoot in the French Quarter this weekend. Yay!

I am noticing ~ that I don't mean "how are you?" as often as I ask it. But I'm always glad when someone assumes I do.

I am thinking ~ about all I have to do when I get home, and all that has to be made right in my life, just how much I really don't want what I have for lunch and how much that really doesn't matter at all.

From the kitchen ~ Haha. I barely cook anymore. So sad. Tonight is going to be some randomly selected Lean Cuisine or a Salad.

I am going ~ to sit here and play on the internet until my lunch is over and then I am going to walk with my SIL and then I am going home to (hopefully) do the chores I've been putting off all week.

I am hoping ~ to move past this grieving thing really quickly and set about making a life for myself...and that it will be one that I LOVE.

One of my favorite things ~ My camera. I love capturing memories, especially for the people I love.

I am reading ~ Nada save scripture and a couple of blogs. I need to start something soon.

I just saw online ~ a bunch of photographers that I envy so much.


A picture (or two, or three. . .) thought to share ~

My brother Brad and the kiddos...I like to spend my Friday evenings with them.

"Homyese". One day, we will make this photo a reality.

My Lisa had her first child this week. It made me so happy!

My newly decorated room. I wish is looked like this right now...and that I was in it.

Forgive me, but I NEED one of these!

Dear Feminists...bite me.

I know there are tons of women out there who are so thankful for all the "great" feminists leaders from days gone by...women who fought for our right to vote and to work and to live independent lives. I'm not one of those ladies. Because, while they were fighting for their rights, they also gave men the impression that we didn't want or need them to be men...to work for us...to care for us...to marry us...or even open a door for us.

Or marry us.

Because, that leaves women like me...who have never wanted anything but to be a housewife and mother to as many children as my poor uterus could spit out (or 6...whichever came first)...who went to college only because I wasn't dating anyone...and got a full time job only because I wasn't married yet...and who has put off buying a home or seriously investing in retirement because I'd rather make those decisions with my husband...at a complete loss when they (and their ovaries) get to the ripe old age of 38 (THIRTY EIGHT...I.E. TWO YEARS AWAY FROM 40) still (STILL!) unmarried.

So, now, thanks to Gloria Steinem and her predecessors, I am at a point in life where I have to realize that the "he" that I've been waiting for is probably living alone with a dog, spending his money on home entertainment systems, gym memberships and dates with various younger women...or his CD collection...or his home library...or something not shallow and stupid, but still not on building a life with me and our children. And, I'm left to pick up the pieces, and buy a home alone, build my retirement plan and avoid buying cats at all costs.

Thanks a lot!

(if you'd like to read the non-hysterical, non-ranty, non-humorous version of this story, go here and then here.)

What I'm not saying...

Yesterday, I posted about letting a dream die. Specifically, about letting my dream of marriage and family die. Admittedly, this decision is prompted by external factors: My 38-year old ovaries, my...um...ample size, my 22 years of datelessness. Indeed, it would seem that every door to the fulfillment of this long and dearly held dream has been shut, at times...slammed...painfully...in my face. But, those aren't the only reasons.

Over the years, or more to the point, with each passing birthday, my singleness and desire to be otherwise have, more often than not, driven a wedge between me and my God. As my last birthday approached, I realized that in a whole new way as I grieved my singleness, yet again. After the torrent of tears subsided, I saw, with fresh (and swollen) eyes just how much of a hold this dream...this desire...had on me, and how much it had destroyed. So, letting this die is also a desperate attempt to salvage what is left of my walk with God...and allow Him to start rebuilding and reordering and redefining the life I've squandered in stubbornness and selfishness.

What I am NOT saying is that God can't still, at some point in the future, bring a husband and family to me. God can do anything and will do whatever He chooses, no matter how many decisions I make or dreams I attempt to put an end to.

What I am saying is that, thus far, He is not and has not given me any reason to construe the past 22 years as anything but a series of closing doors, and so, for the sake of my relationship with my Savior (and my sanity) I am accepting those closed doors, those implied "No's" and getting about the business of living instead of waiting.

Now that marriage is no longer a foregone conclusion, I must now move forward and make decisions for my future (instead of decisions that just tide me over until my husband comes). Those decisions involve housing, retirement, choosing a career, and basically learning to live in a way that is aimed solely Godward instead of "husbandward".

But, first, I grieve...still.

Earlier today, I was sharing some of this with a friend. After I'd typed a good bit, I thought "he really isn't coming" and got a bit choked up. All my life, I always assumed "he" would...one day. "He" has been a near constant companion...someone I look out for, expectantly. But, it would seem "He" was simply a figment of my imagination and a stumbling block on the road towards the life God has for me. I wish I could just "kick him to the curb" and move on right this minute. But, I can't. I'm not there yet. But, by God's grace, I will be...soon.

RIP

I am, unequivocally, a girlie girl. Always have been. Always will be. When I was young, my primary mode of transportation was prancing with a bit of skipping...well...aside from the rollerskating phase. I also twirled a lot. If I wasn't wearing a dress, I was pretending to wear one. And, most times, when I pretended I was wearing a dress, I was also pretending that I was falling in love, or dancing with the man of my dreams or fixing dinner for my husband and six children.

Yes. Six.

Until fairly recently, I had the names of those 6 children (well, 6 for girls and 6 for boys) written on a slip of paper and tucked away in a memory box. Within the memory box, along with cards and notes and photos, were cut outs from magazines that reminded me of other things I'd imagined when I was pretending I was wearing a dress: a wedding gown, a bouquet, a crib, living room furniture, patio design ideas, color schemes. There was also a list of qualities I thought the man of my dreams should have: humor, kindness, a love of British comedy, musicality, and nice shoulders.

I threw those things out a few years ago, preferring to leave the specifics in God's hands...and so I wouldn't seem so anal and crazy. Or, at least, so there wouldn't be actual proof to that effect.

Then, last Wednesday, me and my ovaries turned 38.

And, then, yesterday, I decided it was time for my pretending to come to an end. It was time to stop pretending as if the whole man of my dreams and 6 kids thing was a certainty that I was just waiting on. It was time to let that dream die and move on.

Move on to what? I have no idea. I never had a back-up plan. And, while I should feel like the whole world and limitless possibilities are open to me, I don't. Quite the opposite. Because, I've never wanted anything else. Well, there was the whole FBI Profiler/Supreme Court Justice phase, but really that was more of a superhero fantasy than anything else.

Right now, I am just grieving and hurt and confused and sad and, if I'm honest, angry. I know it won't last. I know God is near to the brokenhearted and I know He has promised to work all things together for the good. I trust that this "good" will not remain raw and painful for long and that as my dream dies, he will give me a new "desire of my heart"...and fulfill it this time.

That's what I'm crying out for, anyway.

Faithful

There's distance in the air and I cannot make it leave
i wave my arms' round about me and blow with all my might
I cannot sense you close, though I know you're always here
But the comfort of you near is what i long for

When I can't feel you, I have learned to reach out just the same
When I can't hear you, I know you still hear everyword I pray
And i want you more than i want to live another day
And as I wait for you maybe I'm made more faithful

All the folly of the past, though I know it is undone
i still feel the guilty one, still trying to make it right
So i whisper soft your name, let it roll around my tounge,
knowing you're the only one who knows me
You know me

When I can't feel you, I have learned to reach out just the same
When I can't hear you, I know you still hear everyword I pray
And i want you more than i want to live another day
And as I wait for you maybe I'm made more faithful

Show me how I should live this
Show me where I should walk
I count this world as loss to me
You are all I want
You are all I want

When I can't feel you, I have learned to reach out just the same
When I can't hear you, I know you still hear everyword I pray
And i want you more than i want to live another day
And as I wait for you maybe I'm made more faithful

"Faithful" by Brooke Fraser

I Choose You

Today, I choose You

Though all that is in me

yearns and aches and craves

something "more"

something else

something temporary...and not You

Today, I chose You

Though it hurts

Though it feels like settling

like giving up

like a consolation prize

Today, I chose You

Though I chose

And speak those words

Through tears

and pain

and defeat

Today, I chose You

Because You chose me

Because You love me

Because You have mercy on me

Even now

Even when

I don't want to choose You

Today, I chose You

Because of your promise

Because of your persistent pursuit

Because of your limitless grace

Because You always know where to find me

And, because You always know how to get me

Here.

Choosing

Wanting to choose

Surrendering

Wanting to surrender

Falling

Wanting to fall

Into the everlasting arms

That bore the cross for me

And bear me and my burdens now

Today, I chose you

Because You chose me

And, because You keep coming for me

When I choose

something "more"

something else

something ...not you

Today, I chose You.

My Saturday Night

Some single ladies hit the bars or go out with friends. Some curl up with a good movie or do a little pampering. Some, so I hear, even have something called a "date". Me? I do this...

"A dream is a wish your heart makes..."

I dream. A lot. Most of them are silly and strange and quickly forgotten. Some of them, though, have a way of sticking with me. A few nights ago, I dreamed (dreamed? dreamt?) that my nieces disappeared and I couldn't find them. That one was hard to shake. One time, I gave birth in a dream. Waking up with no baby was rough. Last night, my dream took place in a bus station. I was there with two friends. Two guy friends. They were meeting two other girls...and I was along for the ride for some reason. The girls arrived. They looked like members of a punk-themed roller derby team. They sorta tumbled off of the bus and fell into the arms of my friends. One was very happy with the arms in which she landed. The other, well, she was not. She was kinda mean. My friend, his name was Peter, tried to be kind and help her with the big trunks clunking behind her, but she would have no part of it. I felt bad for Peter. Once we all got on the next bus to head home, she opened one of the trunks and dumped the contents, numerous masks and helmets, out the window on to the people below. Peter sat with me because his roller derby gal didn't want him. I tried to distract him from the rejection by pointing out interesting landmarks along the way. Then, I realized that I loved Peter...that I wanted to be the roller derby gal he wanted. Well, minus the roller derby. I could feel my face reddening and now tried to distract myself from all the squirmy, tingly emotions going on inside me. I pointed out some oddly placed catholic relics to Peter, we were both amused. I made a joke. We both laughed. Then, he kissed me awkwardly on the cheek. We looked at each other and laughed. Our laughs turned to understanding smiles. My face got redder. My insides squirmier. He leaned in to do it right this time...and then...

I woke up.

Of Unicorns and Tigers...

Once upon a time, when I was in the 6th grade, I went through a unicorn phase. I hearted them. I wanted anything that had a unicorn on them. Luckily for me, there was also a fad going around with these little duffle bag looking purses, which also had a matching tiny duffle bag coin purse...and they had unicorns on them. They were like THE thing to have. If you didn't have a unicorn purse... you were a loser. And no one, I repeat, no one wants to be a loser. Least of all, or rather...especially me.

So I begged, borrowed, and bartered my way to a maroon unicorn purse and I went to the K&B, a local drug store, and bought a silver metalic marker and I emblazoned my name upon said unicorn purse in a beautiful script with a squiggly flourish beneath so that no one would even try to take my unicorn purse and pass it off as their own.

Shortly afterwards, I was riding the bus to school, cradling my unicorn purse in my lap, basking in the glow of its glory, minding my own business when an older girl (who also lived next door to me and was somewhat of a bully, especially to me and mine because her dad was a small angry man who hated our family for some reason) walked by and noticed my purse. More to the point, she noticed the carefully scripted autograph on my bag. Only, because it was sorta dark in the bus, and because she was partially illiterate and because she hated me, instead of seeing my name in beautiful script with a pretty flourish beneath, she saw the name of the boy she was currently crushing on and had, as recently as the previous weekend, made out with (so she said). His name was "Tiger".

In her illiteracy, hatred and impaired vision due to darkness, she charged at me and began hurling accusations and questions and insults. Nervously, I tried to explain what was really written on my bag, and internally questioned whether I really did like Tiger and through some wonder of subliminal, psychological effort actually meant to write "Tiger" on my bag. Despite my internal questioning, the bully soon believed my 'story' and left me be.

All that to say, up until about two years ago, any time my mom would see something with a unicorn on it, she'd buy it for me, even though my unicorn phase ended shortly after the Tiger incident. The last unicorn related purchase was a small cedar box with a well-shellacked top featuring a unicorn, of course, being tamed by a wizard. Classy.

p.s. tiger, his wife and children, now go to church with me. and the bully...she lives in a trailer with a few kids and one of her baby-daddys.

the end.