It's a Crazy Town

Roll into town, step off the bus
Shake off the where you came from dust
Grab you guitar, walk down the street
Sign says Nashville, Tennessee
But I have found

It's a crazy town, full of neon dreams
Everybody plays, everybody sings
Hollywood with a touch of twang
To be a star you gotta bang, bang, bang

Bend those strings 'til the Hank comes out
Make all the drunk girls scream and shout
We love it, we hate it, we're all just trying to make it
In this crazy town -- Jason Aldean, "Crazy Town."

Last week I finally made it to Nashville! Now, unlike Jason Aldean, Luke Bryan, and Dierks Bentley, I wasn't there looking to be a star. Kristen and I went down I-65S looking to have some fun on a Friday night down on Broadway.  And we did!

I loved Nashville instantly, as we rounded the corner of 3rd Ave to Broadway.  There, on both sides of the street were bars with a band playing in each one. I had reached bliss.  As Kristen and I tried to decide which one to go into first, I couldn't help but wonder if these were bars that some of my favorite country singers had performed at on a Friday night.

The street was alive and the bars were alive. They weren't terribly crowded, where you turned caustraphobic, but they weren't dead either. The bars we went into were a perfect blend of people. There were older people but also younger people. And what was blissfully pleasant was the absence of girls who were auditioning for the Jersey Shore. 

And I felt alive with the combination of some amazing bands playing live and the chance to dance! I've felt alive when it came to inimate live bands performing since my 15th birthday when I saw Seven Day Faith at the Hard Rock Cafe. I love how loud it is. I love how you feel as though you are part of a performer's experience and memory in those settings. Not only are they helping you to have a great time, but you're helping them have a great night as well. 

I could move to that crazy town and be a bartender at one of those places on Broadway and just be happy with life. Broadway would be my islands, without a doubt.


Becky McCloud at The Stage



Hope in Tennessee

I have never, up until this past October, cared much about college football. I have strictly been an NFL chick all the way.  However, something changed back on 10.02.10. I fell in love with the Tennessee Volunteers. It was a casual thing; the game was on in the background as La, Ben, and I played with the new puppy. Yet, as the last few minutes of the game started to expire, I started rooting for the team in that pretty shade of orange that I have since, also fallen for.

On October 2, the Vols played LSU.  The LSU Tigers marched down the field in an attempt to beat the Orange and White. There were only a few seconds left on the clock, LSU had to snap the ball to even have a shot at winning.  They did, and their play collapsed around them.

Victory! Victory was Tennessee's!!! They beat the 12th ranked LSU Tigers!! Yay!!!

Eh, not so much. Although time had expired and players were shaking hands, there was a flag on the play.  Tennessee had to stop celebrating and LSU had to stop being completely frustrated. 

It turns out Tennessee's defense had gotten a bit discombobulated and rushed to get on the field, leading the Vols to have 13 men out there [rather than the 11 that rules allow for].  This gave LSU another chance.  It gave LSU time on the clock for another shot at a play.  This time LSU delivered and the outcome of the game changed just-like-that.

This is why I fell in love with Tennessee.  They were so close to winning, but it was just snapped out of their hands.  I guess I could relate to them back then.  I had been so close to having my happy ending, but then, just-like-that, it was gone.  Doesn't mean I won't be fortunate to have a different, or even better happy ending. It simply means the one I thought I was going to have at that point in time, was quickly taken from me.

In fact, I have a feeling that it will turn out just as good for me as it did for Tennessee. Although, the Vols lost all of their games in the month of October, they came together, and won all of their games during November, ending the regular season with a 6-6 record.  And they qualified for a bowl game. 

Maybe they didn't win against LSU. But the season ended better than they thought it would have back in October.

It's through Tennessee that I see hope. Hope for a new happy ending.

Associated Press

Work It

"I think you just try to make it work too much," were words uttered by my best guy friend, Walker. He was observing my latest relationship, all the effort I had put into making it work, leaving me frustrated and disappointed when it didn't.  I thought relationships were supposed to be work. They weren't supposed to be something that just worked it self out; not with our different lives that we tried syncing.  I mean you have to do some work to sync your iPod, why would a relationship be any different?

According to Walker, nope. Relationships are just supposed to play out naturally.

But...

The old saying goes, "marriage is tough work." Hello, it's another job, another duty, another commitment you have to juggle with the kids, house, bills, work, etc.  So I wonder why a relationship, the thing before a big shinny ring & vows would be any different.  All right, maybe there are less variables to consider, but if marriage is going to be work, wouldn't or shouldn't a relationship, marriage's precursor, also be considered work?

Now I'm not talking all-work-and-no-fun type of work. I'm just talking here, planning and communicating about wants and needs.  Arguments over important issues. Staying with that person even when it would be easier to just get out and be alone. I guess what I mean when I say work, is that commitment to the other person, and making that happen in your life.

Maybe I do try too hard to make a relationship work with someone I actually like. It might be because there are, in reality, very few men who interest me to the degree that I would want something serious with them. There are very few guys who I can look at and think, yeah I might be able to handle waking up to this face every morning for the rest of my life. There are few men who I can stand in large doses. And when I do find that one who I enjoy spending every minute with and every minute thinking of, I desperately want to make it work with him. 

Perhaps I need to put down my palm pilot [figuratively] and let fate, life, karma, and/or God just put all the pieces together.  While it is only [type A] human to want to exert control over your life, it might be impossible when another person's schedule and feelings are involved.

So, maybe there is no reason to try to make it work in such a diligent manner...???

Bayonet Wound

Why do they say that your heart is broken? When something is broken, it typically means it needs to be replaced.  The bumper on my car for instance; has to be replaced after my brother smashed it into a few mailboxes.  It can't be fixed.

A heart that hurts, from a love that left, is not a broken heart. It can't be replaced.  The love from one man shouldn't be replaced by the love and affection of another man. That's called rebound. A heart gets stabbed when it is hurt by someone who you really were in love with.  It is stabbed with a bayonet.

Bayonets are knife-like devices that can be attached to the barrel of a fire arm.  Rather than shooting with a bullet (killing you, leaving you unfeeling) the bayonet would stab the opponent in hand to hand combat.  Bayonets leave a + looking flesh wound in the victim.  This makes it harder to sew and heal.

When your love decides he doesn't love you anymore, your heart isn't broken. Instead, its wounded by the bayonet.  The stab wound is bleeding, gushing dark red fluid that quickly stains each of the white sterile towels that the attendants apply to the broken flesh. The doctors struggle to sew up the + shaped flesh wound, so that the bleeding will cease and the body will heal. It may only seem like it is a flesh wound; something on the surface, but it's not.

It is a wound that affects the muscle and tissue of the body. The muscle and tissue can not heal over night. Nerves will not grow back instantaneously.  No, the bayonet leaves an injury that takes time to heal.  Rehabilitation is necessary is most cases, depending on where the weapon left its mark.  The wound is deep from the bayonet and will take many months to heal before the body feels like its old self again.

In the mean time, as the bayonet wound is healing, as the nerves, tissue, and muscle attempt to rejoin and restrengthen themselves, the victim tries to carry on with their previous life and activities. From time to time it is difficult; sometimes impossible; others without a hitch. 

There are times when something makes you feel rejuvenated, wonderful, and full of happiness. Others there are times when you want to shut out the world, lie in bed all day, and cry until there are no fluids left to drain.  Mostly though, there are the days where you simply trudge through, feeling the wound with every step but also feeling alive and thankful to be so after such an ordeal.

Such is the life of a victim of a bayonet wound. The good news is, there is a wonderful chance of survival and a fulfilling, happy life in the future, once the wound has healed itself.

Qualities

Do you see yourself the way other people see you? When I think about myself, I see all these amazing qualities; qualities that my best friends point out; qualities I'm told men would want.

But then I look around. I'm alone. I'm single. I come to the realization that I have had a very hard time in dating and relationships.  And if I really am all these amazing qualities, if those are what are shinning through, then why is that the case? Shouldn't it be the opposite, even if at the moment I am single?

Is it me? Or is it the men I'm dating? I am not advertising the best of me? Or am I advertising the best so well, that when I reveal a part that is not-so-great, they want out immediately because I'm not what they expected?

I wish I had an answer or something that I understood to be true.  So if you have one, let me know please!

Silence Now

I am not the type of girl who has regrets about something she didn't say to someone. In fact, I am typically the opposite. Usually, I regret saying too much. Regret keeping the conversation going, when it probably already should have ended or when it never should have been started in the first place.

You see, as a writer, I feel the need to explain. Explain how I'm feeling, explain the facts, explain the different sides to an argument. My entire upbringing in my discipline has been to explain, to add detail, and to make a thesis or central argument. 

In relationships, I tend to do that as well. When discussing things, I tend to add too much detail. In arguments I tend to get angry when the other side isn't explaining and has resigned to minimal words in a sentence.

If I could learn how to do anything in this world, or perhaps just in this coming year, it would be to silence myself. To not ask for further explanation. To be at peace with the one that I am given, even if it doesn't make any sense and I really could use a further, in-depth look at the statement. No matter how much it is killing me not to have it explained any further. 

The Back Up

There are stories, songs, and friends who all talk about it: Their back up.  Not their back up plan that consists of adoption, moving to a foreign country, or being an accountant.  I'm referring to their back up mate.  The person that they go back to when they are single; the one who they have made a pact with that "if we're 40 and still not married, we'll be together"; the one they refuse to let go of for fear of being truly alone in this big world forever.

I used to have this man who was my back up. Actually I had two. Insurance purposes really. The first was my high school boyfriend Kevin. We dated on and off for over a year and a half, never wanting to be alone. On unspoken terms we had decided we were the back up for each other. While we might have cared about one another, we knew we just couldn't be right for each other. Then there was Jeremy, my crush from high school, who lived in another state.  We'd chat about how we could be together one day, far, far in the future, because we did care about each other and maybe that's just how it was supposed to happen. 

I don't have a back up anymore. Kevin and I no longer speak. Jeremy and I still talk, but I have decided to take him off my list as a back up. I don't want to talk to him only when I am single and lonely. I don't want to think that maybe all these heartbreaks, tears, and rejections will led to a road that is only my second choice.  I don't want to believe that I will end up with someone, just because I don't want to be alone. That's not romantic, and it most certainly isn't even nice. 

I can tell however, that Jeremy has not taken me off his list. That I am still, in his mind, his last resort to find happiness in this crazy and unforgiving world. But he should take me off that list. I don't like knowing that the only reason he speaks to me in volumes is when he is lonely and searching for a friend to care. I do care, I just want more than to be your back up.

I want someone who picks me as their first choice. Not someone who decides that he'll take the pasta dish because they are out of the 18oz Certified Angus Beef Prime Rib.

I want to have my first choice of prime rib too, even if I do love pasta.

I Got a Feeling

My intuition speaks to me often. I get a feeling about most stuff in my life.  This includes places I visit.

On my road trips, I have hit up a few different areas in Pennsylvania, Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, and Georgia.  And from there I have started to accumulate feelings for these places. Places I would love to live. Places I think are interesting to visit. Places I'd be content never seeing again.

When I go to these places, I get a feeling. I feeling that tells me exactly how I feel about that little place in this world.

The places I never want to see again are places that feel of hurt. There is destruction without a sense of hope permeating from its ground.  It's not that these places aren't beautiful. They might be the prettiest vistas in the entire world, but the hurt, the hurt just lingers in the air like smoke from an old industrial chimney. 

There are places that interest me. They hold a charming spell over my imagination and creativity.  Mostly these places, like the most interesting of people, are descendants to a long, lively, and interesting past. 

Then, there are places I would love to spend part of my time here in this world.  Places that bring me hope and peace. That calm that restlessness in my soul by being restless for me.  They are lively, interesting, wild, and beautiful. These places already feel like a part of me when I stumble upon them. I feel welcomed by the air that surrounds me.  The welcome and the peace is whispered in the airs. It falls with the rain.  I know that I am in a place that could possibly be intimately part of my world, future, and happiness.

It all comes from within me. I feel it. My intuition tells me that this place can be home for a gypsy soul.

On My Highway

There is an all too familiar saying that states that "everything happens for a reason." It is followed by a statement that declares, "sometimes something good has to fall apart, so that something better can fall together."

While I do occasionally subscribe to the fact that better things can fall together after something falls apart, I often have time believing that everything happens for a reason.  Mostly it is hard to believe that line because then I am searching for a reason why my dreams did not work out. An obvious sign that says, "well if that would have happened, this couldn't have." Oftentimes it is too hard to see that clear cut event.

However, for once, I see that "everything happens for a reason."

If I had still been with Maj, dating or married, these last 8 weeks or so would not occurred.  At least, not the way in which they did.

I have been out on the highway for the last several weekends.  I have traveled to cities that I have only ever really read or heard about. I have been able to see my best friends, who I haven't seen in months. I have gone to 2 amazing concerts that have helped healed my heart with passion, excitement, and adventure.

If Maj and I had been together I would have been spending my weekends in Fayetteville. I wouldn't have been able to go to my college's homecoming weekend with friends, gone to the Luke Bryan concert in Carrollton, rock the dance floor on Broadway St. in Nashville with Kristen, or randomly take a drive down to Gatlinburg. 

In a way he was limiting my experiences and adventures.  I just didn't realize it until I was forced to go alone on my highway.

Maybe things do happen for a reason...

Tomboy Predicament

The other day I went into the Education Office at the graduate school I'm attending. Dr. Werner, who I had as a guest speaker in one of my classes was there,  was talking football with one of the office ladies.  They went from talking about the quarterback to the offensive line. I stood their, patiently waiting my turn, of course, listening and judging this woman's lack-of football understanding. 

I finally couldn't take it anymore. I interjected, "It isn't just a quarterback deficiency, but a lack of a strong and dependable offensive line to protect any quarterback since...oh well probably Jim Kelley, because even Flutie had only a half reliable O-Line." 

The office lady just smiled at me, as Dr. Werner turned and asked where I learned about football.  I explained to him that I started watching it with my dad when I was little and have since begun to understand and learn about the game, positions, etc. Dr. Werner was quite impressed with my dad's apparent genius in teaching his daughter about football. He then asked me if I consider myself a tomboy.

I laughed and said kind of. I didn't get into the fact that when I was younger I was most certainly a tomboy, but as I grew up I attempted to become more lady-like and girly.  Still working on the balance between the tomboy and the lady. I also didn't indulge him in details that I love Chick Lit & Chick Flicks, shopping, flowers, but also love being able to boast that I can do 50 push ups in a minute, that I know how to weld, and can change my oil.

Well, he came to the conclusion that because I was a tomboy, that I must need a man who is, more feminine than I. Absolutely not, Dr. Werner!!! If I can do more push ups than I guy I'm dating, I'm sorry, but I'll pass. But this is where part of the predicament lies. I want a guy who treats me nicely and is sweet to me, but he needs to be tougher, stronger, and definitely more manlier than I am. Which often puts me in the situation of dating guys who resemble jock meat heads from a stereotypical high school movie more than anything else. Men who are actually overcompensating for something they feel they are lacking [or aren't aware that they're lacking]. 

Ahhhh the tomboy predicament: What kind of man do I need vs. What kind of man I want.

Long Distance Relationship Girl

I've come to realize that I am the girl who gets herself into one long distance relationship after the other.  I don't understand how I got here. I mean, I understand when it started (age 15, Jeremy in Georgia), but I don't know how I got to the point in my life where I seem to always have a boyfriend out of state. It's like that is what I am most comfortable with or something. And how did I get to the point, where I want a long distance relationship? Where the heck did that come from?!?!

I had a local relationship once. It was back in high school. Kevin and I lived a total of 8 minutes from one another.  Then we both went to different colleges and I went to visit him nearly every weekend.  I was living two lives. My school life; my boyfriend/social life.  This is where it all started.

I transferred schools, to be at the same one as his. We only truly dated a total of 2 weeks while attending the same college. Next came Scott. He lived back at home, I lived down in Pennsylvania while going to school. He came to visit me. School during the week; boyfriend/social time on the weekend.  Then came Brandon. We got together a few weeks before the semester ended.  Work during the week; boyfriend/social time on the weekend as we both traveled to and from Pittsburgh. 

When Brandon and I started our senior year together, I hated dating him much of the time. He wanted to be together all the time. He always wanted to know what I was doing. He was jealous that I spent much of my time doing sorority stuff.  We did our homework together. I barely ever went out with friends, and when I did he would get angry with me if I got drank with them.  I never wanted to go out to the bar with him or go to parties with him. He always wanted us to sleep in the same bed together. I couldn't stand being around him...yet the relationship dragged on throughout the fall semester.

Then came Zach. I knew him from high school and he had recently come back from a 15 month tour in Iraq when we started dating. He was stationed down in North Carolina.  Zach and I were together about 6 weeks before I too, moved south.  3 weeks later, we had broken up, after I had moved down there, and attempting to have a local relationship.

Immediately after that I started to date Cerda. He too wanted to be around me all the time. He had a key to my apartment. We spent much of our free time together and he would text me constantly throughout the day. I acquiesced. I thought this was how local relationships worked. But I grew tired of it. I grew sick of him. I wanted to date other guys. 

A little later came Maj. He left for a 12 month tour in Iraq right as we began dating. The longest, long distance relationship I have ever been in.  There was line drawn in that relationship too. I have my life, he had his. We were together when he was stateside. And when we were together it was like a vacation. It was spent in hotel rooms and restaurants, living out of a suitcase. We had discussed me moving down to North Carolina once he returned from Iraq. I was nervous that he would get sick of me and break up with me; or that we would end up fighting constantly. 

In sum: I have not had a local relationship that I have enjoyed since high school. And I do not remember how I split time between my life, my goals, my social time, and my boyfriend. I don't know that I really did then.  So much was intertwined together because we went to the same high school and had the same group of friends.  I don't remember how often we talked on the phone, or text. I don't remember how much time we spent together on the weekend. 

I don't want to be this girl anymore, though. Being the Long Distance Relationship Girl is probably not going to get me Mr. Right...because Mr. Right will probably want to share the same address with me.  Yet, I don't know how to bridge the gap. I don't know how to date locally. I don't know how I am supposed to keep separate, yet still co-mingle my social life with my career.  I don't know how often I am supposed to talk to a local boyfriend.  I haven't operated locally, and happily, since 2005.

Gym Time

I never used to like working out. I never had a gym membership. I never played "real" sports, except for one season of track...which I hated.  I used to hate running long distances, opting instead to sprint instead.

However, since last winter, I have started to enjoy running, and now that it is cold again in Western New York, going to the gym. It is my release. I run for a half an hour in the nice, temperate conditions of an indoor track. Then, as my reward, my dessert, I treat myself to the hot tub and steam room.

I've found that the sweating is cathartic. It helps me release my tension. In a way I feel like it releases all the bad toxins, the bad thoughts, the hurt, and stress of the day. I start the process with running and then I complete it, just to make sure all the day is out of me by relaxing in the heat of the eucalyptus stream room. I instantly feel better as I've released the day away during my daily gym time.

Gym time. My favorite time of day.

Something You Miss

I don't know how to be something that an old boyfriend misses. I am always jealous of girls that I know who are dumped by their boyfriends, but then they end up coming back, asking for the girl to change her mind, sew up her broken heart, and give him another chance. I've never gotten that.

What is it about these women that they are able to entangle a man's thoughts so much, that they regret what they did and they come back to try for a second chance? Whatever the personality trait is, I'd like it. I would like to have that quality that an old boyfriend misses so much that he tries to get back into your life. I would love to be something you miss.

And what is it about him that I miss? Why do I miss him? Why would I even consider giving him another chance if he tried to get back into my life? After all the words that have been said, after all the tears that have been cried, after all the time apart, why do I still miss you? Why do I want to be that someone you miss?

Maybe I need to be something you miss so I feel validated as a large part of your life that you lost.

I Enjoy...

I'm only me when I'm with you. Just a small-town boy and girl, living in the crazy world, trying to figure out what is and isn't true. And I don't try to hide my tears, my secrets or my deepest fears, through it all nobody gets me like you do. -Taylor Swift

Believe it or not, it is hard for me to open up. It is especially hard for me to open up when I am first starting to date someone.  I am insecure and I wonder if I sound totally dull. Who wants to hear on a first date, that I love to read and write. What is this, 1814? Am I 54 years old? I'm 20something. I should love to go out, drink, dance, and have loud fun! I do like to raise a little hell, but I do also enjoy reading and writing a lot.

Point is, I don't like going on dates. I like relationships where you are free to be yourself and don't have to feel like you have to cover up your nerdy self.

Maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Maybe I shouldn't be covering up who I really am on a first date, but let's be serious. First dates are PR meetings. It's about appearance. Yes you want to start to get to know the other person to see if there is a real connection, but you also want to sound like this super amazing person, not someone who has all these idiosyncrasies and guilty pleasures. No one wants to get to know that person on the first date. Unless of course you happen to be dating a very mature gentleman who is anxious about meeting The Future Mrs. tonight!

But to get to the point where, "nobody gets me like you do" there must be dates. Dates where you don't reveal the whole, fascinating, unique you. Dating is like peeling back an onion.  You have to go slow, because if you don't you might get an unwanted reaction. 

Ugh! Tonight I'm staying in with my onion. I like onions better than first dates.

Burn Book

Things NOT to Say. Sometimes if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all.

Boy to Girl he is dating: "You're a communist. I think Democrats are pure evil."    Yeah, that will get you to the next date. Maybe you should have saved that comment until she got to eat her dessert.

Elections make people angry, ready to fling nasty words across the divide.  Although I am a history major, I hate talking about elections. I understand that they help to decide the path the nation takes, but I hate them. They are typically nasty.  Sometimes, particuarly, in recent elections, I have trouble seeing where the candidates stand on the issues when they are only worried about mud slinging with their opponent.  What is this, kindergarten? Boys will be boys, but this is getting to be too much!

Digging up dirt isn't my favorite either. Its like they missed out in highschool. Or they were the ones who the Burn Book dised back in the good ol' days. Now its time for them to get back...well at least they are getting "back" at someone.

How the date continued...

Boy: "You're a communist."
Girl: "No I have more socialistic ideals that I think should be worked into our government."
Boy, nonchalantly: "So you are a communist."
Girl, enraged: "Open a freaking textbook and compare the definitions! Socialist and communists are not the same thing!!!!"
Boy, pompously: "I have and they are the same thing. I think I know more about politics then you do. I educate myself and read about this stuff all the time."
Girl: "I highly doubt that. I don't even think you know how to read if that's what you think the definitions are."
Boy: "And you would know? You went to college, that's it. Every one knows that colleges are the most liberal communities in the country."
Girl: "What did all those Republicans do with their youth?! Pretty sure they went to colleges in this country. How did they make it out alive then, without being turned into evil liberal-minded individuals."
Boy: "They went to private institutions."
Girl: "Check, please!"

Wow. Apparently dating has become just as mudslinging as recent elections.  And this blog is the Burn Book.

Wedding Hoopla

I'm going to speak generally here, so please forgive me, but am drawing on my own personal experience as well.

As a youthful 20something society we are wedding obsessed.  I was the girl who claimed I didn't care about all that fussy, materialistic, Hallmark-driven accouterments on my wedding day. I claimed that all I wanted was the man who was promising to love me, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part. None of that other "stuff" was important; just him and me against the world.

But then I was proposed to. I got that beautiful diamond ring.  Then we started thinking about the wedding.  If we had be able to get married at the court house, not the jail, like we thought, none of this wedding stuff would have had to have been planned.  Maybe then I wouldn't have become wedding obsessed. 

The planning had started out innocently enough.  I had only wanted to have my dad walk me down the aisle and dance with him at the reception (which Maj and I aptly named wedding celebration, not reception).  But then came the flowers, the centerpieces, the tables & chairs, the tent, the church, the favors, the food, the cake, the music, photographer, the wedding party, the dress.  What I didn't want to have was the bachelorette party, shower, wedding registry, engagement party, or engagement photos.  I thought all that stuff was silly; that it wasn't necessary. 

In the words of Carrie Bradshaw, "The wedding got bigger than Big." In my case, the same was true. The wedding had become bigger than Maj. No matter how little money we spent on the occasion, I was in charge of many of the decisions, arranging for things that don't really matter in a marriage, and things I always claimed I'd never get involved in. I think that freaked him out & made him angry. Much of what I cared about was this one day in my life. Maj still mattered but there was tunnel vision on October 2.

Why? Why is the wedding day, the occasion, so important? Why is it the focal point of the happily ever after story? Why do even the girls who claim they don't want all that hoopla, end up falling in love with planning the special day?

Is it part of fitting in with all the other couples who have come before you and enjoyed those things? Is it about setting yourself apart from those who are unengaged and unmarried? Is it about status? 

Unfortunately, I don't have the answer. But what I have realized throughout the whole wedding planning ordeal is that, I really would like some traditional wedding hoopla. Even the stuff I dismissed.

• I want a bachelorette party/outing with all my wonderful friends. It doesn't have to be Vegas style, just a great day & night with my favorite girls.
• I would like a shower. It means a lot to all my aunts and my mother to throw me a wedding shower and give me gifts to help create a new home and new life with Mr. Bryan.
• I still want my dad to walk me down the aisle. And I still have the song picked out for our Father/Daughter dance.

I want it to be a special day in my life. Maybe that means lots of planning and a little bit of hoopla, but I plan on having a wonderful day. Not perfect, but a happy and joyous start to a new chapter in my life.

Every chapter should start with a hopeful, happy line that you hope to permeate throughout the remainder of the book.  Same should be had on the wedding day. And if doing all the silly, materialistic mixed with traditional family & friend time, means I have let the wedding get a little big, maybe that's how it is supposed to be. 

Mr. Bryan will just have to understand. And he will. Because he will truly love and understand me.

Revisit Fat Talk Free Week

I've already mentioned Fat Talk Free Week, which was established by Delta Delta Delta in 2008.  Only 2 years, but this past October 35 college campuses took part in the Reflections program, to help women recognize that they need to love and be proud of their bodies. 

Why is this so important?

Because as an educator I hear young girls in the hallway, as young as 7th grade, talking about how they don't like this or that about their bodies.  In 7th grade girls should not be worried about how they look to boys. They should be worried about their homework, playing a sport, what movie they are going to watch with their friends that weekend, and understanding what a healthy life style means. 

What it definitely does not mean is only salads for every meal a month before spring break. It does not mean spending 3+ hours at the gym every day in order to get slim. 

Ladies, we need to be health conscious, not weight and size conscious!  Do I eat my 5 required fruits and veggies everyday? Am I taking a multivitamin for women? Am I getting enough calcium? Is my heart healthy? These are things we should be concerned about when we are younger. 

We need to be conscious of how we are taking care of our bodies, and only after full examination, decided whether or not that 21hour gym week is actually necessary to our over all health; mentally and physically.

Until then, Tri Delta to the rescue.  Good thing Deltas look good in Sara Blakely's Spanx.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/leslie-goldman/do-i-look-fat-in-this-don_b_767565.html?ref=fb&src=sp

Jagged Little Pill

I am thankful to be born when I was. Not only do women have so many opportunities coming from the shoulders of our fore-mothers (Thank you, Abigail Adams, E.C. Stanton, S.B. Anthony, suffragettes a plenty, Rosie the Riveter, Donna Reed, Betty Friedan...etc!!), but we also have the right and the opportunity to make reproductive choices for ourselves.

 Can you believe that The Pill has only been around for 50 years?! Can you believe that women have only been able to have a real, grasping control on reproduction for the past 50 years? My mother is only 52 years old. It's crazy to think that my grandmother is the only woman in my family besides my mother and me who was able to make such staunch decisions about her uterus and what and when something was carried inside of it.

Now it appears, or at least there are rumblings of a possible new birth control revolution for American women: free contraception via the proposed health care bills that are passing through the houses of Congress.

I understand that everyone has their own ideas about the health care bill, and everyone is entitled to their opinion, including me.  Rather than speak on the health care bill as a whole, I wish to look at this possible revolution that I might be part of. 

Make no mistake about it: the health care bill isn't just advocating free birth control pills, but rather its searching for support for women to receive more reliable and even more expensive birth control methods for free under the passage of the bill.  That means women would be able to have IUDs and implants, for free. I don't know if you have ever had either form, but they expensive and depending on your health coverage you could be paying quite a bit for this preventative measure.

Which in fact is how the bill is proposing they target the opportunity: preventative measure, preventative medicine.  Opponents don't believe it is preventative, but family planning advocates would disagree. So would I, but this is why:

There are commercials for Univera Health Insurance, among others, that offer a deduction in payments or free gym memberships for their members. Isn't contributing to a healthy lifestyle a preventative measure that some Americans are taking part of?? If they're getting a discount for going to the gym or taking so many steps in a day, why shouldn't women, who are consciously deciding not to have children until they are ready, etc. get a break in the best methods available to prevent such?!? 

All right, I'm stepping off my soap box now. Here's the full article, if you'd like to read what the AP had to say about it all. http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20101031/ap_on_he_me/us_birth_control

Resting Place

It's been two months since Maj and I broke off our engagement. When we have spoken since it has been nasty, cold, and unlike our previous relationship in all respects.  I have wanted to tell him so many things since; say that I am sorry that I hurt him, say that I'll always love him and hope that his future is bright, ask for forgiveness, and hear him say that he forgives me and believes me now.

But a conversation with him is completely out of the question. Not only for him, but I don't want to actually converse because I know it will make me upset.  I have been wishing for a meeting with him so that we could say those things listed above to one another. I have been wishing for peace. I have been wishing for an opportunity where I could tell him what I was really feeling without him making me feel worse.

Well, I got my opportunity this morning. I had a dream. In my dream we conversed, apologized, and said our goodbyes to one another.

Have you ever read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert? In her 2nd section of her journey she is in India and she explains how she had wanted a similar meeting with her ex-husband. "How do the survivors of terminated relationships ever endure the pain of unfinished business?" she asks(p. 186). Gilbert continues on to tell her readers that, she found the answer within herself.  For the purpose of her "meeting" with her ex she meditates and on a rooftop in India he meets her for their farewell event.  We "were just two cool blue souls who already understood everything (p. 187)."  On a rooftop in India is where she found a place where the "unfinished bleak hallow sadness" of her divorce and relationship with her ex could come to rest (p.187).  

For Maj and I, the rooftop was my dream. 

His friend McCoy brought us together, in Fayetteville, at a kitchen table in a living room.  Maj and I both sat nervously at the table together. He was dressed in a red flannel shirt as he sat there [which is only relevant because in a dream I had when he was deployed we were sitting at a kitchen table and he was dressed in a red flannel- that he has never actually worn!- laughing and joking].  Maj was scrolling through the TV selection, rambling on and on about nothing, as I sat starring at my lap.  I didn't want to look at him. I had hurt him just as much as he had hurt me. 

Then somehow, we were talking. We were forgiving one another. We told each other that we were sorry that we had hurt the other. Maj and I said we wished things hadn't hone the way they did. Then, we were embracing one another, wishing each other luck. I told him that I hoped he was always safe when he was deployed because I never wanted anything bad to happen to him.  He told me that he hoped I was published one day. In fact, he said I better get published one day.  We told one another that we would always love one another. We were thankful for the time we had together. That we'd always share a piece of our heart with the other.

I woke up and cried for the very first time in a few weeks. It felt good. I know that the entire scenario wasn't real, but it was my subconscious relinquishing me from blame, regret, guilt, and a good deal of my sadness.

And since I'll never get that face to face meeting with him, I'll take the subconscious' gift of release.