'C' is for 'Charming'.

I read in public for the first time in five years last Friday.

I've read my poetry before in classes or workshops, and as a requirement for my first college poetry class I had to read a poem aloud at a group reading featuring my entire class and our professor.

I also read once as part of a two-week writing workshop that I attended in Prague the summer before my junior year of college. I read two poems in front of the entire program--this time it wasn't necessarily required but it was sort of an unspoken rule that everyone would read on the 'student reading night'.

This was the first time I have read by 'choice'.

Although, I found out about the reading when I received a picture message from my roommate, a fellow poet, with the image of my name on a sign-up sheet that I didn't remember signing. She had signed up for me and I was reading so I better "figure out some poems to read" because I had 15 whole minutes to fill. I could have said no and un-signed up, so I still consider it a choice even though I guess technically I didn't choose to do it in the first place.

But that's not really the point.

The beginning of this semester was a little rough for me if I'm being totally honest. I am taking three classes which, as I've come to find out, is quite a course load for a graduate student to take. One literature class, one poetry workshop and a publishing (column writing) class. Which means I'm basically always reading or writing. Like all the time. I also started working at my college's writing center three days a week so my weeks are pretty full.

I was stressed at first because of the amount of work I had (and still have) to do but also because I didn't feel totally comfortable in all of my classes. The poetry workshop was the easiest because it's in my genre (a.k.a my comfort zone) but I had a new, guest professor and a new group of students to get used to.

In writing workshops there is a sort of bond that develops among students after you've started reading each other's work. You learn each other's style and voice--but most importantly it becomes understood that 'what happens in workshop stays in workshop'. It is a safe space, or circle, and what is said during that time is privileged. In a weird way it's like therapy because there are these people that essentially you barely know, but who may know you better than your family does. I suppose this is because writing and sharing that writing with others is a very intimate type of act.

You feel a little exposed, naked even--and feeling comfortable doing this over and over again, takes time. So switching into a new workshop is kind of like stripping in front of a bunch of people you don't know, just as you were getting used to skinny dipping in front of this other group of people. Maybe I'm getting a little carried away with this whole 'naked' metaphor, but you get what I'm saying.

So, even in the the class where I was supposed to feel most comfortable, I was still adjusting.

Then there were my two other classes--one is a particularly difficult travel theory literature class and a publishing class where I am writing in a different form/style than I've written in before.

The literature class was the scariest at first. In part because of the topic matter, it's very much a historically based curriculum, or at least it was in the beginning and I felt like I was a little out of my league as far as my understanding of historical-literary criticism. And also in part because the professor is an extremely intelligent, no nonsense woman who definitely scares the crap out of half the people in my class. Her knowledge and demeanor are a very intimidating combination.

Then I felt like I botched an oral presentation (although I was the first of many to go so I didn't have an example to follow) but since I am hyper-critical of myself I felt that I had ruined any chance of getting a good grade in this class. I was also supposed to coordinate with another student in the class, but he ignored my email and took what I think was probably the easier portion of our presentation to explain to the class, leaving me floundering trying to make sense of the other part. I don't blame this kid though, just my own insecurities that were at play when I was presenting.

I tend to compare myself to other people, particularly my roommate who is also in the program and in that class, when I know I shouldn't. And I was literally afraid to return to this class after my disaster of an oral presentation. But I went.

I promised myself I would work really hard to get a good grade on my midterm paper to make up for the oral presentation portion and then go from there.

My column writing class started in a similar fashion. I didn't do too well on my first two columns I turned in. I find it hard to write in a way that is informed without sounding academic, cold, or dull. This is a problem when it comes to column writing because columns are essentially judged in terms of 'voice' and I didn't want to put readers to sleep. But I also didn't want to act like an authority on topics that I had to right to be an authority on. So it was a difficult balancing act to get used to.

My stress reached its peak when I had a particularly bad week. It was the week of my oral presentation, the same week one of my first two columns was due, a week when the poem I turned in got torn apart in workshop and a week when I had a difficult day tutoring. It was like a domino affect of awfulness that managed to topple down onto every area of my life for one whole week. I cried on the phone to my older sister and felt like I was the worst person ever at every single thing a person could possibly be bad at.

Walking. Talking. Dressing. You name it--I was bad at it. I was especially bad at writing and had no place in my graduate program. How could I even dare to call myself a writer or poet? I would resign immediately. As if that was possible, or it was quite that simple.

I really just needed to have a little cry and get the stress that I had been bottling up out of my system so I could focus on the task at hand. My sister pointed out that in the past I haven't had to work very hard to get good grades and maybe now was different. Maybe now I needed to put in the extra work, although I felt like I had been, and maybe I needed to buckle down a little bit.

I really felt that previous to this point I had been trying to do just that. I had started the semester with a more serious and focused attitude. I had worked out all the first-year kinks of being a graduate student and a new Bostonian, so now it was time to work hard and those results would be worth it; my hard work would pay off in the end. But like any other red-blooded American, I wanted instant results. I forgot to factor in that tricky little element called 'time' which is essential in any type of growth or development.

But my sister's "dude maybe you just need to work harder" really put this all into perspective for me (I swear my sister should have t-shirts and bumper stickers with her amazing affirmations like the one I just mentioned). So I took my sisters advice and made a point of staying in and studying even more than I already had been doing. I went to birthday dinners but didn't go out for drinks afterward. I refused invites to go meet for drinks. I even stayed in for an entire four-day weekend to work on my huge 10-15 page paper that was due for my Travel Literature class.

This doesn't sound like a big deal but I am a person who really enjoys her "fun time" in order to lend some balance to the "school/work time." And I'm a pretty social person who enjoys a little silliness/lightheartedness from time to time.

But I was focused on my goal of getting doing well in school and specifically getting a good grade on this paper. I was trying to reverse the domino affect. (Spoiler alert: I got an A- on my paper. But that's not why I'm writing this blog post.) So because of my shaky start to the semester, it was with a hesitant state of mind that I faced my upcoming reading. I was nervous, even though everyone I talked to insisted I had no reason to be nervous. But hearing that I shouldn't be nervous was like telling a girl who is having a "fat day" that she looks skinny. It doesn't change things. At all.

I wasn't sure what poems I should read, I was afraid the poems I wanted to read weren't "finished," I just wasn't in the mood to be stressed out when I could just sit at home watching Netflix and avoid the whole thing altogether. And as I stated before I have the terrible habit of comparing myself to others so I was afraid I wasn't good enough yet, to read my writing aloud with the other poets. In fact, the day of the reading I was so nervous I considered just not showing up. But Eloisa my roomie said she'd "bring down the hammer"if I no-showed and I'm not sure what exactly that would entail, but she's a feisty thing with contacts in Mexico so it can't be good.

So, I drank the double whiskey-diet that my roommates made me, put on some Baby Lips lip-balm and showed up. I was introduced (out of order I might add, there were six of us reading and I was supposed to go fourth after the 10 minute break but they introduced me third instead). I read all seven poems I brought. People clapped. End scene.

I expected the grad student and friend audience to be sympathetic. What I did not expect was people I didn't know coming up to me afterward and telling me how well I did and how much they enjoyed my poetry. Or one of the curators of the reading series asking me if I had submitted my work, and if I hadn't suggesting that I submit and giving me a website with publications that might interest me.

It's funny how we trust strangers to tell us the truth more than our friends or family sometimes.

A non-writer friend had told me a few weeks before that I would be fine at the reading I would get up there and be the same "charming" me that I always am.

It reminded me of how in the past few years that word 'charming' seemed to keep popping up when people were describing my personality. It wasn't typically a word I would include in my vocabulary to describe myself. (A few words I would include are the following: sarcastic, feisty, awkward at times...)Yet there it was, from a variety of sources.

I had been told I was extremely charming by various guests at the restaurants I've worked at in the past.
A former employer that I interned for jokingly yelled at me once for distracting the group and instructed me to "just stop being so charming and focus." I protested that I wasn't trying to be 'charming.' He said, "you can't help it, it's just the way you are. You're just naturally charming."

So when a friend brought up this word 'charming' again a few years later, I started to believe maybe there was a little truth to what these various people were saying. I even looked up the word in the dictionary to dissect the definition to see if I feel like the word actually applies to me.

Then I realized it doesn't really matter what I think of me, this is the conclusion that people who know me have come to and I don't really have a say in their opinion. As is the case with all opinions, we all have our own. And they have their opinions about me independent from my input.

And this is not necessarily a bad thing. I tend to be harder on myself than other people, I'm sure most people are like this also, and I am extremely reluctant to accept praise. I have learned over the years that I really don't take compliments well. But I'm trying to learn. And this is something that applies to not only my personality but my writing also. I just have to put it (and myself) out there and let other people make their assessments.

So when people came up to me and told me how well I read, or how much they liked this poem or that poem, I tried to resist my usual course of action: denial. Instead, I blushed and attempted to graciously and gracefully accept the praise thrown in my direction.

After the reading I realized that this confidence boost couldn't have come at a better time. I was almost half-way through my program and not sure I was making any actual "progress" with my writing. I didn't have a strong sense of improvement, but I also became increasingly aware that this was in part because I was so hesitant to share my writing with my peers, or with anyone really.

I've never really had the type of personality that was self-promoting, or a 'look at how great I am' type of person. I know a lot of people like that and it kind of grinds my gears. This is extremely prominent with other writers. Everyone thinks their story, or memoir, or novel, or poem just needs to be heard and is so important that everyone should read it. And that kind of annoys me sometimes.

But it's okay to toot your own horn once in a while; moderation is the key.

My favorite compliment came from my friend Kyle who is also in the program. We were in the same workshop last semester so he's familiar with my poetry and he's even seen some first drafts from the poems I ended up reading to the audience. He made the comment that he could really tell how hard I had worked on my revisions and how much I tried to incorporate all the feedback into the new drafts.

He said that he was impressed about how far I'd come since last semester. I didn't know it until the words came out of his mouth, but I really needed someone I respected and whose poetry I also admired, to tell me I was doing something right. That my hard work was actually paying off, and that I wasn't just wasting my time with this whole poetry thing.

In the end I guess I succeeded in both 'charming' the crowd and I was also 'charmed' by the audience and their reception of my poetry as well. It helped me remember the payoff of putting yourself out there and being in vulnerable positions.

The encouragement and appreciation is definitely worth the risk.


                                                                          ~~~

I'm Never Moving Again.

After this past move, I seriously never want to move again.

I've moved once a year in the past six years, so basically I'm over it. And while I know this is not exactly logical because eventually I'm going to have to relocate my things, I really mean it.

Let me fill you in on how moving works in the Boston/Brighton/Allston area. Everyone moves on September 1st. EVERYONE. It is one giant apartment shuffle with five Uhauls on every street.  The reason this happens is because there are only June and September leases widely available. Sure there are the random May leases, or even occasionally an August one, but those are usually rented out to the lucky few by private owners and not property management companies. Combine the mass apartment swapping with all the one-ways they have going on and the T and it's pretty treacherous.

This is why me and my soon-to-be roomie Eloisa booked our Uhaul and two spry movers in April. I'm not kidding. We booked our Uhaul in April and they told us that if we had called the next week we might not have gotten one at all. I'd also asked a friend from the area who was wisely not moving to lend an extra set of hands and maybe even drive the Uhaul because Eloisa and I were a little hesitant about driving in Boston. Especially on the day that locals call "Allston Christmas."

 Some wires got crossed and she ended up going out of town for Labor Day, and I really wish I could have gone with her. But as a result we felt very unprepared about the impending move/doom. We worried about being able to pull off the move with just the two of us the night before the big day and then even with the help of the two moving guys the day of. Time was an issue because Uhaul truck had a drop-off time and also driving said truck was going to be a chore because of parking. Apparently Eloisa had been discussing the stress of the move with her boyfriend, who is from New Hampshire, and out of guilt he offered up one of his friends to help us since he couldn't help us himself. He lives across the country so he gets a pass but I think he offered Danny as a peace offering. One that we gladly accepted.

Danny was a godsend. I don't know how we would have made it through the weekend without him. He came straight from work which is about a 45 minute drive to come help drive the Uhaul. As an attempt to pay him back in some small way we had pizza waiting for him, which he ate in the car on the way to pick up the truck. We were under the impression that it was okay to park his car in the Uhaul lot overnight, but that was not the case so I had to drive his car while he drove the Uhaul. His car is a stick-shift, and even though I learned to drive a stick years ago, I was a little stressed. I'm not an aggressive driver and people around here drive like idiots. There's a lot of honking. People are always trying to beat the T, which is an awful idea in my opinion. I almost got hit by some Asian lady who didn't even look before switching lanes. But I did it without getting injured or crashing the car so I considered it a huge success.

Then came the fun part. Luckily, we had thought to stop off at the liquor store en route to the apartment before we started the heavy lifting. Eloisa and Danny parked his car in the liquor store parking lot down the street and I waited with the truck on the street to save our spot. Then we did a quick 'cheers' and drank one beer/cider to commemorate the beginning of our hellish weekend. We loaded the contents of Eloisa's apartment into the truck while other people in her building were doing the same. And we did it pretty quickly considering our serious lack of muscle. I kind of wish we would have timed it.

Then while Eloisa waited for her landlord to inspect her apartment, me and Danny went straight to my apartment and loaded up all of my stuff. Let me just remind you that this is the first time I've met Danny. We have never hung out previous to this day and he gave up his Saturday night to come help his friend's girlfriend and friend move, expecting no payback whatsoever.

After loading the truck we were all drenched in sweat from humidity and all the trips up and down the stairs. Our friend Ashley graciously let us stay at her house for the night since all the cheap hotels nearby were booked. So we parked the Uhaul in her driveway and decided we needed more booze to celebrate phase one of moving day coming to a close. I offered to walk with Danny back to his car and to buy a bottle of something, or a case of beer. When we got to the liquor store it was closed. This was not our only problem. The bigger problem was that in the time that it took for us to load up the truck, Danny's car had been towed from the parking lot.

I felt awful. Here this guy is trying to be nice and help two desperate girls out and his car gets freaking towed. But Danny just rolled with it and we went to get his car from the tow-lot. We hitchhiked there, catching a ride with a pizza delivery guy we made friends with in the parking lot. Which I would never normally do, but I was with Danny so I felt pretty safe. Not to mention it was just down the block.

After paying for the tow, that Danny had to pay for himself because they only accepted cash, we drove back to Ashley's to shower. Then we settled down to eat some wings (that we picked up on the way back) and to drink our remaining supply of alcohol while playing Bananagrams. We wanted to relax after the stress of moving and the car being towed. One of Ashley's roommates, Shin, came home and joined us and we ended up having a really fun time. Then it was off to bed to rest up for round two the next morning. But the next day would be easier, we'd have the help of the two movers and we'd get the job done in no time, right? Wrong.

We woke up when Eloisa's phone started ringing and the screen showed a local number. It was 8:30 in the morning the day of our move and the caller let us that our movers were cancelling. They gave us a simple explanation that they had overbooked and informed us that no one would be there to help us at noon. And our truck had to be back by three o'clock that afternoon. We were, to put it bluntly, screwed. It was too late to find other movers especially ones with a reasonable prices, and it was too early for me to start panicking especially because I hadn't even had any breakfast or coffee yet.

Then here comes Danny who calls the Uhaul place to try to explain our situation. He works in customer service so talking to people on the phone is kind of what he gets paid for. He told the woman from the Uhaul place that the movers Uhaul had outsourced called to cancel. And because of that we were unsure of whether we would make our drop-off time or not. Then he stayed around to help us move. Again.

The move on the second day happened in a blur. Partly because there were so many people around and partly because it was pouring rain for part of our move. Danny drove the truck again, parked it like a champ in front of our building and then we began unloading the truck as fast as we could. I forgot to mention before that the two apartments we moved out of were on the third floor--and so is our new place.

So we loaded our belongings, with the help of Ashley and Danny, into the lobby because we only had 20 minutes in our spot. There was literally a line of other Uhauls waiting behind ours. Some random guys that were either moving in or moving out saw that we had one guy and three girls so they started helping us with our stuff also. A few things broke, like my bookshelf--yet my wonky dresser miraculously survived. But nothing major was damaged. In no time all of our belongings were transferred to the new place and set haphazardly in the living room.

We were in no mood to open any of the boxes or get organized plus we had to return the Uhaul. So, I drove Danny's car, Danny drove the Uhaul, Eloisa rode shotgun in the truck, and Ashley headed home.   I made it to the Uhaul place before the other two, so I waited in the parking lot of a near-by gas station until they showed up. Because just like it was chaos getting the Uhaul, returning it was equally chaotic.

Then we all piled into Danny's Subaru or the "subee" and headed to Southie. Danny convinced me and Eloisa that we were in need of a little Sunday Funday action, so we decided to have a few post-move drinks. The bar we went to was so...Southie. Family owned by Irish immigrants, kind of dive-y, but luckily not the kind of bar we needed to be dressed up to be at. We were a little haggard looking, I'm not going to lie. Or at least we felt that way. We had gotten rained on, sweated more than I thought a person could sweat in one weekend, and were covered in a mysterious layer of dirt, dust and general grime. Not pretty.

But in spite of our outward appearance our little group arrived at the Shannon in Southie to de-stress. To drink a few beers/ciders, eat some much needed food, and play a few mindless games of pool with Bobby the bartender when his shift ended. And that was the grand yet mellow finale of our moving weekend.

The girls were tired (me and Eloisa) so Danny's friend Bobby graciously drove us back our apartment instead of letting us take the T home (our trip would have taken close to an hour). Again, this gesture was offered by a guy I had just met, and it was very much appreciated. We exchanged hugs and promised Danny a couch, a meal, or a drink whenever he is in the Boston area.

And that is the terribly true story of how we moved on September 1st in Boston during a flash flood warning. Jealous?

                                                                                ~~~

The Wedding.

This is the completely true story of one of my best friend's weddings. I swear, just like I couldn't make up the lives of my extended family, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

This was the first time I was an actual bridesmaid in a wedding for someone I truly care about. Me and Catherine met our freshman year of college and although we only lived in the same city for that one year, we still managed to maintain a close friendship for the years to come (at this point it's almost been six years).

Luckily for me and the other bridesmaids, Catherine picked out a flattering dress for us all to wear, my downfall would be the shoes. Although, I didn't know that in the beginning. But that's getting a little ahead of myself.

Wedding week started when I flew into Denver the night of the bachelor party. Sean (the groom) and all the other bachelors/bachelors for the night were out n' about running amok in the city of Denver when I got back to Catherine and Sean's house. The bride and female counterparts of the bachelors were all having a BBQ and trying not to cringe too hard at the thought of what those silly guys were up to. Catherine seemed to be the only half of a couple who had adapted the "out-of-sight-out-of-mind" attitude, which didn't surprise me because at her bachelorette party she didn't even bring her cell phone out for the night of festivities.

Although it was technically the night of the bachelor party, that didn't stop us ladies from drinking too much wine and staying up until 3 am. Well at least me, the bride, and the two sister-in-laws-to-be did. We had some really good conversation but I made the mistake of drinking white wine, which will guarantee a headache the next day no matter the amount of wine I ingest the night before. One glass, seven glasses, it's all the same.

The next day I woke up and met all the brothers/groomsmen. They were all hungover and my favorite part was poor "uncle Jason" wearing a Hello Kitty headband and getting jumped on by his lovely, energetic, and very audible nieces. We said a quick 'hello, nice to meet you' before Catherine and I helped load up her mom's minivan and made the four hour drive to Gunnison, CO where the wedding was being held. Grandma Marlene was in the passenger seat, little Clark the dog was in his kennel in the trunk, and me and Catherine proceeded to sleep the entire ride there. I'll note here that it took us about an hour longer than it should have, probably because Grandma Marlene was in the car and Betsy (Catherine's mom) was afraid of driving too fast over the mountain passes.

But we all arrived in one piece and little Clark didn't make a sound the whole trip. Then we unloaded the van, including 'the dress' and sat down for a nice steak dinner with Catherine's parents and grandmother. Bill, Catherine's dad, began the 20 Questions game the moment I arrived and tried his best to get me drunk (probably not but it felt that way) in a matter of 15 minutes of me being there. I could write a blog alone dedicated to Bill, because he is such a character but I won't. However, he does play a starring role in this story.

I should probably mention one of the reasons we arrived almost a week before the wedding. The wedding wasn't until the following Saturday but because we were going to have to participate in a separate Catholic ceremony that upcoming Tuesday morning, we made the drive a little early. This topic was one that brought about what I can only politely describe as 'tension' among the family. It was a sore spot and not a fun conversational talking point. Catherine and Sean were not too thrilled about having to do a separate ceremony, but it was really important to Bill, so they reluctantly agreed. When we got to Gunnison Bill and Betsy filled us in on how difficult their local church had been about performing the original ceremony, which was intended to be outside, and would be outside on Saturday. I don't know much about the Catholic religion, I grew up Protestant, but they are still both facets of the Christian religion. And one would think that there is no place that a person, or a group of people could be closer to God than outside. But maybe I'm just a forward-thinking person, or I don't know, using reason and logic. But anyways...

We also drove up early to help with the final wedding preparations. Centerpieces, linens, flowers, etc. I had promised Betsy at the bridal shower/bachelorette party that I would be her slave the week before the wedding and I am a woman of my word. So Monday we began bopping around town trying to tie up all the loose ends and doing some shopping for all of the get-togethers that we had planned leading up to the wedding: family dinner, cocktail party, rehearsal dinner. Sean arrived that afternoon just in time to run with Catherine to grab the marriage license from the county clerk's office.

The next day we had what I have nicknamed the "practice wedding" or the "pretend wedding." At the lovely hour of 9 am might I add. It was only the bride and groom to be, Catherine's parents, Grandma Marlene, myself, the deacon and his wife. From the moment we arrived I knew it was going to be a struggle to maintain a straight face throughout. The deacon make a big to-do about the marriage certificate and informed Catherine and Sean that they could not, under any circumstance, take the license to be filed. They might "lose it." Because two twenty-somethings who already have their own house could not possibly be trusted to file a simple paper...

The original plan was to not take that certificate and get a new one for the actual date of the wedding, without giving away too many incriminating details. When we talked to the deacon however, we realized that plan was out the window. But we proceeded with the ceremony anyways. As is the norm with typical Catholic masses, there was a lot of parroting phrases back at the deacon, sitting, standing, etc. I tried my best to maintain what I hope was a serene expression, but knowing me, I probably rolled my eyes a couple of times despite my best efforts. The best part of that ceremony was when Bill was whispering to Betsy behind me. He was using a "kid whisper" which really isn't a whisper at all, it's talking at normal volume while believing that no one else can hear you, even if there are only six other people in the room. The good thing about that morning was we got it over with early in the day and early in the week. We were done with it, even though in retrospect some might call it a waste of time. But I will defer to God on that one.

The stress of all the last minute details was wearing a little on the bride so that night we went out for a drink with Sean and his best man a.k.a his brother Jason. This is not before we put some of extra vodka we had leftover from the bachelorette party to good use and made some emergency jello shots for wedding week. This is when Bill gave me the adorable nickname "Jello Shots" that he used for the rest of my trip, even though it wasn't just my idea to make them. I'm pretty sure Catherine and Sean chimed in also. But back to Tuesday, after a few lemon drop martinis Catherine was feeling loads better. Plus a little time away from the house/parents/grandmother probably helped as well. We didn't get too silly that night, partly because it was a Tuesday night in the tiny town of Gunnison and the bar closed at around midnight and partly because we had to be up early the next morning to go pontoon boating at Blue Mesa. We were looking forward to a relaxing day on the boat, some sunshine and swimming, and the test of little Clark's doggie life-vest. This was our last chance to relax a little before the rest of the family trickled into town throughout the week.

Oh, how wrong we were.

When we woke up the next morning it was overcast, but that didn't deter our plans. Like an idiot, I forgot to pack a jacket or hoodie of any kind so I just wore a sundress over my bathing suit with my hair down to cover my shoulders. We packed a cooler with sandwiches, chips, a couple beers and some jello shots and piled into two cars. Then we drove to meet Jason the best man and Sean's mom Dawn at the lake. There were nine of us total and somehow we loaded onto a pontoon boat for six to eight people. Like a motley crew similar to that of the group from Gilligan's Island, we set off on our little adventure. It was Sean(the groom), Catherine(the bride), Dawn(MOG), Jason( the best man), Matt (groomsman), Bill(FOB), me (bridesmaid), little Clark, and Grandma Marlene.  It was chilly the moment we got on the boat and soon we were all covered in towels and huddled together to try to keep warm. We attempted to thaw ourselves by taking a couple jello shots but it was nine in the morning and jello shots are much better when the sun is shining (at least in my opinion). Bill gave us the grand tour including the complete unabridged history of Gunnison, Blue Mesa (the largest body of water in Colorado), and the surrounding areas.

Then it started to rain. Right in our faces. Grandma Marlene's knees were knocking together next to mine, and everyone else was sufficiently cold. So, we made the decision to call it a day on the boat and head back to the main land. We were almost to the dock, in fact we could see it from the boat. I turned to ask Catherine a question and turned back around to face Jason and Dawn. Then there was just a wall of water rushing towards me. And that's when time slowed down a little. My jaw dropped, I heard Catherine shouting "GET TO THE BACK OF THE BOAT" to Jason and Dawn and my arm instinctively wrapped around Grandma like a seat belt. Bags were floating and then rushing over the back and sides making me feel like I was in a scene from the movie Titanic. And we all know how that movie ends. I'm sitting there and my only thoughts were "Oh my god I'm going to have to jump in and save Grandma, she does not seem like a strong swimmer" and "well, there goes half the wedding party..." Then all of a sudden Dawn is yelling that her keys are in her bag and next thing I know Catherine has yanked off her dress and jumped in the water. Meanwhile, Bill is yelling "get the tackle box, get the tackle box!" If we weren't so panicked at the time, I would have laughed then and there at Bill's priorities.

But I didn't have time because little Clark tried to jump in after his mom. Jason picked him up and threw him into my open arm. So I have Grandma in one arm and Clark in the other and all I can do is sit there. Catherine managed to get all the purses, shoes and bags that fell in the water. The tackle box, being heavy, promptly sunk to the bottom and the visibility was not the best so there was no point even trying to salvage that. Dawn's purse was completely soaked but her keys were in it, thank god. At this point I want to mention that all the boys on board waited until little 5-foot-nothing Catherine jumped in like superwoman and saved the day. Now they were scrambling trying to lift her out of the water, probably to redeem themselves a little.

My purse that had my phone, Catherine's phone, my wallet and her wallet magically made it through this disaster completely unscathed. No water damage whatsoever. My bag actually floated, or should I say my mom's bag because I was borrowing it.  I couldn't believe it. I only discovered this when we were back in the warm car with little Clark strapped in next to me. Needless to say, we were all bonded after that near-death experience. We went back and cleaned up, then drove to Crested Butte for lunch. We had definitely earned it that's for sure. The rest of that day is a blur. We were tired from waking up so early and from the after-shock of almost sinking. More people came into town that night. But I vaguely remember going to bed early.

The next day there were more errands to run and a cocktail party to prepare for. The party was an opportunity for both Catherine and Sean's families to meet and mingle at least once before the rehearsal dinner and the main event. We helped prepare all the food (mostly appetizers) and made berry mojitos for that evening. Most of the wedding party was in town by this point and a few more stragglers were arriving during or after the party. It was nice to meet the extended family and put faces to all of the names I had been hearing about for the past few months. We finished all of the jello shots that night (the Hervey fam can drink) and as the "keeper of the shots" I got roped into taking more of them than everyone else. We had to explain to the little girls that this was "grown up jello" and not suitable for children. I made a bet with Ryan, the middle brother, that if he did a keg stand I would do one also, if they designated someone to hold my dress. And unluckily for me, Ryan is a ornery thing. So guess who did her first keg stand since college? This girl. But on the plus side Grandma and the little ones had called it a night at this point so I didn't feel like I was scandalizing anyone. No one saw up my dress (thank you Cassy) and I didn't fall over, so I considered it a win.  I blame it on the stress of the wedding preparation finally getting to me.

Friday morning I helped Cassy, the maid of honor, with her speech because she was super nervous and wanted a second pair of eyes. Plus, writing is kind of my thing so I figured it would be nice to lend a helping hand. Then we brought more stuff to the property where the wedding was being held and had the rehearsal. The big drama of the day was that there were only half the number of champagne flutes that we needed, so we scrambled around a bit trying to remedy that mishap. Sean ended up having a friend from work bring more flutes from Denver.

The rehearsal took twice as long as it needed to and it was all thanks to the numerous interruptions made by big Bill Nesbitt. This was even after we told him that we had written out a schedule that detailed the wedding day events and the schedule was split into 15 minute increments saying what was happening and who needed to be where. I kept making eye contact with Matt, Catherine's brother and my buddy down the aisle, and we kept cracking up because it was so ridiculous. Finally, I got the bright idea to physically hand him a copy of the schedule that we had emailed to everyone in order to speed things up a bit. That seemed to curb some of the questions but as I had come to learn over the course of the week, Bill likes to be involved in everything and liked to try to figure out or plan things that had already been planned or figured out. By everyone else. And like days before.

We managed to finish up the rehearsal and then we sped back to try to get ready in time for the rehearsal dinner that evening. But not before I painted Grandma Marlene and Aunt Laurie's nails. I was sitting there painting the ladies' nails in leggings and my Blackhawks Stanley Cup Champions tee shirt, with wet hair and no makeup. Then Grandma looks at me and goes "oh, you're not wearing that to the rehearsal dinner are you?" in her Minnesota accent that I was quickly learning to mimic. By the end of the wedding I had my Grandma Marlene accent perfected. As much as I had teased Sean about wearing my Blackhawks tee shirt to the wedding, because he's a huge Red Wings fan, I wasn't actually going to follow through with it. And it was so hard in that moment to try not to laugh. But I managed to squeak out a "no, I'm going to go get ready after I'm done with your nails" instead. This wedding and all the events surrounding it was good practice for me to learn to bite my tongue in social/familial situations. However, once alcohol is added to the mix, my filter goes right out the window. I didn't say anything too bad though over the course of the week, or nothing I can remember now.

I managed to get ready just in time for Cassy and her boyfriend Jensen to pick me up and head back to the hotel where the dinner was being held. I was staying at a family friend's house who had graciously offered up their place as extra lodging for select relatives and friends (myself included). They had a pretty amazing library, so I felt at home knowing all those books were in the house. Although, I didn't have very much time for reading because we were so busy with wedding things. But anyways, we were off to the rehearsal dinner which was the first time we had all eaten since breakfast. It was a casual dinner with pizza and salad from a local place, but it was just what we needed to re-energize. We took some pictures and mingled with family and friends. Then Sean gave out the groomsmen gifts, flasks with each of the guy's names on them and shot-gun-shell cuff links. After we, the bridesmaids, gave Catherine her scrapbook with pictures and recipes that we had secretly made for her. Poor Cassy didn't even get out two words before she started crying as she gave Catherine the book. Jason jokingly said "well that takes a lot of pressure off me now" because he had been stressing about his best man's speech also. But we were hoping she got the tears out then instead of the next day during her big speech, with way more people and a microphone.

There was more drinking that night, I had started to notice a trend at this point, and we had a little after-party at the house where most of Sean's dad's family was staying. They had a shuffle board type game and we brought tons of leftovers from the rehearsal. I got the chance to talk to Sean's dad and step mom a lot that night which was fun because they are two of the sweetest people and a model couple. The main thing I remember from that night was Catherine giving Jason a hard time about "being born in the 70s" (Jason, if you're reading this...sorry buddy haha). She kept saying "hey, is anyone here born in the 70s?" And he would reluctantly raise his hand...then we would all laugh. This happened multiple times. The car ride back to the hotel was hilarious because there were like eight of us piled into a five person SUV and the whole time Jensen, Cassy's boyfriend, kept feeding me and Catherine random gummy bears. I'm not sure where the gummy bears came from and I didn't ask. I couldn't tell who was sitting where or who was touching who, but we all fit and made it safely back to our respective rooms. I decided that this was the perfect time to write my card to Catherine and Sean congratulating them on their marriage and whatever tipsy thoughts were in my head at that moment. Then I fell asleep and woke up promptly at 6 am before my alarm even went off.

I think I had this secret fear in the back of my mind that I was going to "miss the wedding" or show up late, which would probably never actually happen. Someone would surely call me or come over and physically wake me up. But I was wide awake and ready to go. I made a mental note to order a small coffee because it seemed that I didn't need the extra caffeine anyways. The girls, myself included, showed up at the property around eight or eight-thirty. Catherine went into organization-mode and started helping finish up with decorations and center-pieces. Finally, we shoved her back inside, into a chair and made her eat a bagel and drink a mimosa. Rory and Melissa, the hair stylists, showed up around nine and started with the bridesmaids and worked their way up to the bride. The couple of hours before the wedding was very frenzied. There was a lot of running around, zipping, hair spraying, safety-pinning and mimosa drinking. At one point I was pinning one of the groomsman's vests because it was too big then the next minute I was on the ground in my bridesmaids dress pinning someone else's pants. Who knew I was quite the tailor?

We took bridal party photos while the guys were off somewhere taking the groom's party photos. The only time Sean was super traditional was in his request to not see Catherine in her dress before she walked down the aisle. Catherine wanted to get all the pictures out of the way so the guests wouldn't have to wait before the reception, but Sean was adamant in his decision. So the big reveal was delayed until the ceremony. It started drizzling briefly as we finished up our bride/bridesmaids photos but we weren't discouraged. We popped back inside the bridal suite to freshen up before the ceremony, to take some silly pictures and to put the final touches on our ensembles. Then all of a sudden it was go-time. I was super nervous because I was walking down the aisle first. This is the point in the wedding where I almost made a fool of myself. Let me set the scene for you...I was walking downhill, on slightly wet grass, in a full length gown and three inch wedges. I'm not gonna lie, I stumbled a little bit when my foot went in a hole. But luckily for me Matt came through with his promise not to let me fall and we remained upright. I probably blushed a lot. But I tried to ignore it and hoped not every person was starting at me at that particular moment.

Catherine looked like a princess as she walked down the aisle. But I managed to keep it together and didn't cry (I did wear waterproof mascara just in case). Thunder interrupted the officiant a few times and one of the flower girls, in typical kid whisper, said "Aunt Michelle, did you hear the thunder?" Yes, sweetheart. We all heard it. I was in between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry the entire time. We walked out of without a hitch and then rushed off to take wedding party/family photos before the rain started. It was windy and the sky was a little apocalyptic looking but it probably made for some really out-of-this-world pictures. Kinda like an "extreme wedding" or something. I'm really curious to see how they turned out actually.  For part of the photo shoot, the wedding party was standing on a bridge while one of the photographers took photos from below. The green from all the trees probably looked amazing in contrast with our dresses and the formal attire.

After the photos were finished, that's when it really started to rain. We walked into the reception in our pairs and got sufficiently wet on our way to the tents. I didn't care at this point because most of the picture taking was over and because what else was I going to do? It was time to rally. First there were the speeches by the best man and maid of honor. Both of them did an amazing job despite their nerves. Although, I was a little pissed that some of the other guests were talking during the speeches. I understand that these speeches can be boring to people who aren't super close to the couple, but if that's the case, don't come to the wedding or at least be respectful. A few other people randomly decided to make speeches as well. Billy, Catherine's older brother, gave a hilarious speech and even rapped a portion of it. After the speeches the wedding party got in line for food, then the rest of the guests lined up. We ate, or tried to but people kept coming up and talking to us, and then naturally the drinking portion of the evening started. We had these plastic cups with straws and lids that we had been drinking mimosas in while we got ready. Well, let me put it this way, after dinner my cup remained filled for the rest of the evening.  We ran out of beer at some point but big Bill went to get more, per the request of the bride (even though she had said from the beginning that she thought we needed one more keg). Cassy caught the bouquet and her boy caught the garter. I didn't even try to catch the bouquet. In fact, I think I looked down at my drink to make sure the lid was properly fastened then I looked up and it was over. I'm not sad I missed it. I think the bouquet toss is probably my least favorite part of a wedding.

Then there was a lot of dancing. I did multiple "fill-in-the-blank" slides, and cha-cha'd the best I could. Sean's dad stole my beer while we were on the dance floor, but he gave it back. All of Sean's side of the family were dancing machines and were so much fun. Even Grandpa busted a move! It was amazing. Catherine's brothers were really fun on the dance-floor also. I think the large quantities of alcohol were a contributing factor because Matt isn't normally the dancing type. But that is typical of any wedding; you see people dance that you might never see dance otherwise. Catherine had a mini freakout in the bridal suite that can be attributed to months and months of stress. But she perked back up and danced the night away. Until like 10 pm when we decided to change and head to a bar for the "after-reception-party." That's when the night gets blurry. I think I drank every type of alcohol that night. People kept buying rounds of shots and toasting the bride and groom. And I distinctly remember Sean handing me a shot of some unidentified liquid and telling me "I'm the groom." So of course, I took it. It was whiskey. *shudder* But what was a girl to do? There was more dancing. I remember a dance-circle where Matt dance-battled some random guy and did this weird little trotting move over and over again. It was pretty hilarious to say the least. I was still wearing my garter from the wedding, but the shot of tequila that was originally in it, was gone by then. Someone thought of the brilliant idea to bring the guest book to the bar and somehow I was dubbed "the keeper of the guest book." I wrote a lengthy entry sitting at the bar, beer in hand. To which Jason, the best man, asked me "geez woman are you writing a novel?" Sidenote: I was not. But it was a really funny little note.

The next day we had a fun time reading all the entries, especially the ones from people at the bar. I'm pretty sure the bartender even wrote a little note to the newlyweds. When I could finally stand and after I had taken a shower, we went to brunch. Then we loaded up as many presents as we could in the car and headed back to Denver. Catherine and Sean were flying out the next afternoon to go to Michigan and I was heading back to Phoenix around the same time. The drive back to Denver was way quicker than the one to Gunnison, thanks to Catherine and Sean's driving. We were all pretty tired so we went to bed pretty early and then the next day Sean's dad Mark and his wife Rhonda took us to the airport. We said our goodbyes and our little whirlwind of a wedding week was finally over.

These are the things I took from this wedding:

1) Weddings are not really for the people who are getting married (sadly).
2) Weddings are stressful.
3) Bringing multiple families together for a celebration is tricky.
4) I might elope when/if I ever get married. At the very least I'll get a wedding planner.
5) Apparently it's good luck for it to rain on your wedding day (thanks Grandma).

But, that being said. I wouldn't trade our experience for anything. Overall, we had such a fun time and I got to know both Sean and Catherine's families so well. They are all great people and we have tons of crazy/fun/ridiculous memories.

I am so happy I got to be there for Catherine and Sean on their big day and look forward to being a part of their new life together! So raise your virtual glass to the happy couple!

Sorry, that's as cheesy as I'll get. I swear.

I'm definitely going to be a pro for the next wedding I'm a part of. And like I said at the beginning, I couldn't make all this stuff up if I tried.

                                                                                  ~~~    

A La Noche, A La Donde Vas, A La Bibliobecca: a.k.a the Family Vacay in Espana.

I know this is a long time coming but I've been a busy lady this summer and I'm using this week to catch up, so your patience is appreciated.

My family recently traveled to Spain for vacation in the beginning of July and my Auntie Michelle was the best at speaking Spanish. So, Auntie Michelle, the title of this blog is for you! ;)

It's hard to remember every detail of a two-week trip to a foreign country but I'll try to recall some of my favorite moments or memories. However, it's probably going to be the "reader's digest"version of our vacation. Even with my stellar memory, I sometimes can't remember every single detail. So just be prepared. I may forget a thing or two.

First let me list the people who participated in our Spanish adventure: my mom, my dad, Aunt Michelle, Uncle Brian, my sister Kelsie, my sister Brie, my cousin Jordy, my brother Ryan, myself and a cutout of my cousin Dillon's head because unfortunately he couldn't make the trip at the last minute. It's okay, he got a grown-up job with the Padres and we are super proud of him. But we did have a lot of fun taking silly pictures with his face and having random strangers come up and ask who he was. We told them he was Justin Bieber.

The trip started off smoothly enough, our flights were easy and we made all of our connections, which is saying a lot based on our previous traveling history (i.e. our Italy trip circa 2005). We started in Madrid where we met up with my little sister Brie who was studying abroad in Florence. In Madrid we attempted to stay awake and avoid jet-lag by touring the palace gardens right by our hotel and hopping on a 'hop-on-hop-off' tour bus, but the humidity made us all drowsy and almost everyone ended up falling asleep on the bus(except me because my contacts were stuck to my eyeballs and I physically couldn't close my eyes). So we reluctantly went back to the hotel to take naps in order to reset our time-clocks. I'm told some people went out to dinner later, but I slept straight through the night until 8 am and woke up completely refreshed.

The next day we went to the Royal Palace of Madrid, to the Museo Nacional de Prado, and the Retiro Gardens. It was as if we were trying to make up for that first day, but we saw a bunch of art and architecture, and the gardens were so massive and beautiful. I would have liked to get lost in those gardens for a couple of hours with my journal and my ipod but we had places to see, so we moved on.

That night we went to see a flamenco dancing show, which was such a cool experience. I haven't done any research on the subject of flamenco dancing but from what I observed it's all about movement illustrating the passion behind the dance. The way those dancers could move their feet was amazing. It was kind of hypnotizing actually. I'm not sure if it was a mixture of the dim lighting and the sangria but I felt as if I was in a little trance as I watched from my seat. If I tried anything like that, I would fall on my face for sure.

The next day we left for our villa that was in the town of Altea towards Valencia. It was about a four hour drive and we ended up stopping at this cafe in the middle of nowhere and ordering sandwiches from this sweet woman who we tried our best to communicate with.

The house was near the beach town of Calpe and was right on a golf course maybe five to ten miles from the beach. The place was pretty spectacular; there were five bedrooms, a large kitchen area, a dining/living room area and my personal favorite part of the house--the back deck which included a pool and a view of the golf course. Not too shabby right?

We spent the bulk of our time in Spain with that house serving as our home base. From there we toured the area going to various churches, castles and even a monastery which was one of my favorite sites from the entire trip (although that trip we made on our way to Barcelona). The monastery sits on the very top of a hill and there is a gondola that takes visitors to the very top of said hill. There's also a famous sculpture that looks like stairs leading to heaven where tourists take pictures of themselves ascending the steps. My cousin Jordy, my uncle Brian, my sister Kelsie and I got a picture of us standing on the sculpture and it looks like we are photoshopped in because you can't see the ground in the photo. My dad was actively not looking as we took the picture because he is not a big fan of heights. I can still remember the trip we took to the Grand Canyon but that's another story.

One of my other favorite parts of the trip was meeting these women on the boardwalk who made their own jewelry. They were so wonderful and patient as we picked out various pieces and used our fractured Spanish to converse with them. They kept telling my mom and aunt how beautiful we are and honestly, who doesn't love being told that? Especially over and over again in Spanish.

We went the beach a few times and did beachy things; towels, blankets, beers, mojitos. Most of the beaches were topless beaches since that's pretty much the norm in Europe so no surprises there. I did not participate in the topless tanning, because well, two words: sun burn. Ouch! No thank you.

Moving on...

We signed up for a guided mountain bike tour that I have now nicknamed "The Ride from Hell" and I don't think anyone who participated will disagree with the title. Except for maybe my brother, but he's used to riding 80-90 miles a day on a bike and he's one of those freaks who enjoys it. Although, he does it on a road bike and in my limited experience with bikes, I prefer road biking to mountain biking.
Overall though, I don't trust bikes just like I don't trust horses. I think it's a control thing. But that is not the point.

The real twist is that we all thought it was a mountain bike ride for beginners that toured around the city, the beach and then a little ride to see this dam/castle. What we didn't know was that the ride was 30 miles, it was one of the hottest days of the year, and we each only had one water bottle. I made it about 15 miles before I tapped out and turned around. In my parent's defense they honestly didn't know what to expect, but I think it's safe to say they will never sign me up for another bike-themed family outing ever again, or at least not for a long while. And I'm okay with that.

After Altea we went concluded our trip in Barcelona. We dropped my brother off in Valencia on our way so he could bike and catch part of the tour de France. The rest of us stayed at the Hotel Gaudi and there was the coolest (and supposedly the most underrated) Gaudi museum right across the street. We could see the sculptures on the roof from my parent's balcony.

We shopped a lot on the trip in general, because my Aunt Michelle shops like it's a sport--and she is a gold medalist in it--, but we did the majority of our shopping damage here in Barcelona. That is where I found the most amazing leather jacket that I cannot wait to rock once the weather gets cooler in Boston. The best part is being able to say "Oh this? I got it in Barcelona. No big deal." I could seriously go on and on about this jacket, but I won't. You are welcome.

We only went out one night during our whole trip, and by go out I mean went out to some bars, nightclubs or pubs. Barcelona is a huge party city but since we were with our family it wasn't really that type of trip. But apparently in Barcelona, if they see four girls in their 20s walking down the street it can be guaranteed that said girls will be approached every 5 feet asking if "you girls wanna party tonight?" Even if the girls in question are just trying to find gelatto (I'm talking to you Jordy and Brie). And if you tell these club promoters that you are traveling with your family and point back to your uncle and dad, they will disappear in approximately 1.5 seconds.

But we did go out one night and we ended up at the Cheers bar in Barcelona. It was basically just a simple Irish pub. There we met a couple of American guys who were traveling around and then the highlight of the night was when we met the British stag party. The bachelor was wearing a super girl outfit complete with a blonde wig and what I can only assume were nerf balls for his--ahem--lady lumps. There were probably about seven or eight of them altogether and we hung out with them for the rest of the night. They could not get over the fact that we were all related and that we were 'so good looking'--their words not mine haha. It was just nice to talk to people in English and not have to deal with the language barrier for one night. And it was fun being out with just the girl cousins.

My favorite part of the city of Barcelona itself was probably the gardens in the park where the artist/designer Gaudi lived. They turned his house into a museum so visitors can walk through his house as well. We bought a couple of drawings from an artist in the park where he explained that there was a different image when you rotate the picture upside down. I chose a picture of a tree that when it is flipped upside down shows a woman's profile. The architecture and art in Spain is so distinct but until I visited I would have pegged it closer to work of Italian artists. Gaudi in particular was interesting because he designed spaces that were aesthetically pleasing but also ones that incorporated the practical function of the room/furniture/space into the design.

Overall it was a good trip and we had a lot of funny moments that I didn't mention here. We drank lots of wine, sangria, cidre and beer. Everyone except for my dad did Jordy's 10 minute abs that made it hurt to laugh for a few days. We ate a lot of paella, and a lot of things that we weren't sure that we actually ordered. But it was an experience that's for sure. Some of my favorite moments were the times where we split up into smaller groups because nine people together at all times can test a person's patience. Though, I am glad that everyone was able to make it because I felt safe traveling with such a big posse.

Hopefully it is one of many more combined family vacations to come, and hopefully we can get the complete group to attend the next time.

I will close with the near-nonsense words of my Auntie Michelle...

A la noche, a la donde vas!!!

                                                                               ~~~

What Do You Want to Be in Five Years? Happy. So Poor?

I went to my great-grandmother's ninetieth birthday party last weekend.

The whole family (minus my little munchkin sister who is studying abroad in Florence, poor thing) flew back to Muncie, Indiana for the celebration. We also had family coming from Tennessee, as well as the family that still lives in Muncie or near there, that joined the festivities.

When I asked my great-grandma if she was excited for the party she gave me a typical mid-western "no." But when all the people started to show up, hugs were exchanged and the party got underway I could tell she was really happy. Then the grandchild-bragging started, by her and my other grandma (her daughter). My grandma only tried to marry me off to one person's grandson. I was heading to the bathroom and got snared for a hug and a "Hello, I'm one of the great-granddaughters." I made sure to check if this young man was related to me (he wasn't thank god) but there was no current photo and we weren't sure what his FEP (future earning potential) was--so no deal.

I was so glad to be a part of celebrating my amazing great-grandmother who, when she was younger, bares a striking resemblance to Natalie Wood (in my opinion) and without whom, I literally would not exist. My little sister designed a poster with all of these old pictures on it and me and my mom made center pieces that looked like they came straight off the web-site Pinterest. All in all the party was a huge success and so many people showed up to visit and wish my great-grandma a 'happy birthday.'

There were so many good quotes from throughout the party/weekend that would make really spectacular blog titles of their own and I'll share some of those gems with you, but I picked my favorite for the title of this current post.

A few of my other favorites were "Wow, you have beautiful blue eyes. With those eyes you'll never have trouble finding a man." I don't think my eyes are the problem--it's probably the combination of my low expectations and high standards. But like I said, that's another topic entirely.

And coming in a solid third place was a short exchange I had with one of my great-grandmother's friends about my dad. This is a paraphrased version of that conversation:

"Your dad looks like this attractive actor. I can't for the life of me remember his name..."

"Is it Robert Downey Jr.?"

 "Yes, that's the one!"

See, really good topics to explore! But I'll have to save those jewels for another day.

In typical party-settings you tend to have the same conversation, or many versions of the same conversation, over and over again. This party was no different. I had several variations of the "Oh, you're in graduate school? Where? Which school? What for? What do you plan to do after? Creative Writing--what do you plan to do with that? Etc,." My grandma and great-grandma took turns flagging me down from across the room to chat with an assortment of old friends and relatives.

Now, I really hate when I feel like I'm not being entirely honest.

But I also hate when I feel like the answer I plan to give someone is not exactly what they are expecting or looking for. It is a result of the people-pleaser in me that still shows her face from time to time and it's not something I've learned to completely shut off yet. Although I'm not entirely sure whether or not small doses of people pleasing is a bad or a good thing.

That being said when asked serious questions that I'm not sure the answer to, or if I'm not sure the other person will appreciate my honest answer, I've learned to deflect the question with humor or to give an almost-true response. When I decided to go to grad school a couple of years ago and I was in the middle of the application process, I generated a response that seems to shut most people up when they talk about how useless my choice of major is. I just tell them "I'm considering teaching. Or perhaps publishing." Which is not entirely a lie, both of those pathways or potential careers interest me but my honest-to-goodness answer is "I have no clue what I'm going to do after graduate school--I'm just going to see what happens in the meantime and wing it."

Now, I am a pretty practical person despite my tendencies to daydream and exaggerate. I chose to study English and Creative Writing, knowing full well that I would never be a Rockefeller or someone of that income-pool. I am fully prepared to struggle as a writer or teacher or editor if that's what ends up happening. And I understand there is a certain amount of preparation that is required to live the life that you want. But that's just the point I'm trying to make; I'm going to live the life that I want. And I would like the non-daydreamers and people like the ones who inspired the title of this blog to realize that it's okay to not know all the steps I plan to take along the way. As long as I get there in one piece.

And if in five years I am, in fact, happy--then I guess I won't be that poor after all. Will I?

                                                                             ~~~

Always Be Yourself...Unless You Can Be Beyonce. Then Always Be Beyonce.

I guess being chubby in high school has its perks. Because while other girls were being told how hot or beautiful they were, I was developing this little thing called a personality.

I went to a bachelorette party two weekends ago.

It was the first time I had ever surprised someone and I was super nervous. The bride didn't know I was coming and I was afraid somehow the surprise was going to get spoiled before I showed up. But it went off without a hitch or a glitch (besides me breaking my necklace on the way to the house).

I am so glad that I got to be there. The bride (one my best friends from my freshman year of college) has been really overwhelmed in the past few months because of the toll the wedding planning has started to take. No matter what the circumstances, some people can still manage to take what is supposed to be a happy day and celebration or what-have-you, and turn it into an "all-about-me" thing. And when you insert family into the mix it comes with all the familial baggage and/or skeletons. I went hoping to ease some of the stress and to reignite the "fun" spark.

Somehow over the years I became the girl that everyone likes. I'm not saying that to brag and I don't mean to seem conceited because that's the farthest from my personality. I'd like to think I'm more on the modest side. But it became apparent to me this past weekend at this bachelorette party. I met the whole bridal party, some of the bride's other friends and some family. There is one bridesmaid who has been making things a little difficult (understatement of the year) for the bride. And even she liked me or at least she pretended to. I'm not sure if it's because I'm so easy-going or if it's because I have learned to be able to talk to anyone about anything (thank you waitressing). Or because I haven't always been what you might call a "looker." I joke now that I was fat in high school and people who knew me then go "aw no you weren't," but I felt that way. I had my awkward phase from the age of fifteen to about twenty or so. That's when I finally settled into my body and my own skin. For the most part anyways.

Anywho, Catherine (the bride) was so excited that I could be there. She kept telling me over and over, "I'm so glad you're here. This feels like a dream." Which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like I just ate some good dark chocolate or drank a yummy latte. In my life I blame my mother for two major addictions: chocolate and coffee. But that is neither here nor there. I was a part of the bachelorette party festivities and was so glad I was able to help make Catherine's experience a (mostly) good one. Without being too detailed because honestly, it doesn't really matter what transpired or what exactly brought me to this amazing moment of self-discovery...but let's just say that over the years I have thought myself to be a little bit insecure. I've went through ups and downs with my confidence level internally but I've mastered a coping mechanism called "fake-it-till-you-make-it" so most people are none-the-wiser of my self-esteem drops and peaks. So it was shocking to me to see someone three or four years my senior act so unsure of herself. I chalk up all the drama, attitude and general unpleasantness to her insecurities. Otherwise, why in the world would she act the way that she did?

I've always been told not to compare yourself to other people because it will make you feel worse about you, when no two people are the same anyways. And I agree with this, for the most part. Like don't look at pictures of skinny models and feel bad about yourself because you don't look that way. But then I got to talking with one of the other bridesmaids as we were falling asleep in Catherine's bed and we started discussing how we are drawn to certain people and tend to get along with them right away. While others have the opposite effect. At first we might be a little repelled by them and it could (if ever) take longer to get comfortable with that person. For example, I seemed to get along with all of the bridesmaids even though previously to the bridal shower/bachelorette weekend we had never met. We all just gelled right way. Although it may be easier when you have a common goal, and ours was making sure Catherine had a good time and everything ran smoothly. I know that getting along with 11-12 females at one time can be difficult for some people, especially other females, but if you can't get along with a large group of people for a few hours, then something is a little off. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

In the end we both agreed on one thing: be yourself and if if at the end of the day people still don't like you, well then at least you're still being true to yourself. And chances are people will be drawn to you, solely based on the fact that you are being yourself and not putting on some act for other people. So I will leave you with these wise words from some comedian whose name I can't remember right now..."Always be yourself. Unless you can be Beyonce. Then always be Beyonce."

                                                                     ~~~

The Highest in the Gene Pool.

It is graduation season right now and naturally it reminds me of my own high school (and college come to think of it) graduation. I even listened to my graduation song while helping a family friend put together a photo slide show for her son (who I used to babysit so that made me feel especially old and aware of how much time has passed since I graduated). Dexter Freebish's 'Leaving Town.' If you haven't heard the song, I highly recommend it because I feel that the lyrics accurately describe how a lot of kids who graduate from high school feel at that point in their lives. In fact, one of the lyrics inspired the title of this blog.

It's funny to observe these young people who seem so stubborn and determined yet also incredibly unsure. And ones that have most of their lives ahead of them. Or maybe that's just me reflecting on how I was at that age. Back then I told myself (and anyone who would listen) that I was going to college out of state and that I would never move back to Arizona. That I never wanted to live there, and honestly that Colorado was not as far away as I would have liked. I wanted a change; I wanted something different. But also deep down I was a little scared of leaving and not feeling like I 'fit.'

It's one of those things that truly only comes with age and with time. You realize the things you so vehemently claimed you never wanted, are the things you might end up wanting in the end.

After a year living on the east coast, I have become increasingly aware of how much of a west coast kind of girl I really am. I am a truly laid-back person who, yes, is prone to the occasion rant or word-vomit session but who ultimately has a calm response to the daily or weekly troubles. I try to use logic as much as I can, or what little logic I possess. Haha.

I am also more of an outdoorsy kind of person than I had originally thought. I guess living in Colorado made me more aware of how girly I can be at times. I like to paint my nails different colors and curl my hair sometimes. I also like to wear cute dresses and accessorize. And I thought that this meant that I was too girly to do certain outdoor things.

But I think I must have absorbed the love of the outdoors by osmosis or something because I've realized that I really miss hiking, camping, cliff-diving and days at the lake. The mountains. Oh, how I miss the mountains. Turns out, I don't really like city life or people as much as I had originally thought. Now a part of me is convinced that I would be perfectly happy in a little cabin on the side/base of a mountain with a garden and a lake or river near by and a fully stocked library.

I had the pleasure of going on an all-day hike today to the bottom of a spring/creek with my sister and couple of her friends and her friend's friends and now as I'm about to go to bed I have a very familiar sense of calm that accompanies seeing what I can make my body do, even when my head is telling me it will never happen. I will never make it up this hill, I can't swim that far, I can't repel down that rock. Well, it turns out I can. Once again illustrating how you can talk yourself out of almost anything if you think about it for too long.

I like Boston. Please don't get me wrong, it's been an experience that's for sure. I've met some amazing people. People who I know will be in my life for a while. And I really am glad that I at least tried something different as opposed to just staying somewhere because I was comfortable. There are bookstores I have been to that can't be compared to anywhere else, cute coffee shops, history literally around every corner, and a town that can come together when faced with tragedy and crisis. I am proud to say that I will have lived in Boston while I was in graduate school.

But I'm not sure if it's somewhere I want to be permanently. I want to enjoy the time I have there and all the experiences, people and places I will surely have the pleasure of encountering in the next year and a half. However, it's very possible that the road I'm on will lead me back to the west coast very soon.

Now, go listen to that song (youtube it if you must) and reminiscence about your high school graduation. And if you haven't graduated yet and you are reading this...in time you will understand how sometimes when you think you are just so sure and that you will never change your mind, that often that turns out to not be the case and you have to eat a little slice of "I-was-wrong-pie." Don't worry, it doesn't taste quite so bad once you get past the first bite.

                                                                         ~~~

So Apparently I Suck At Keeping Up With a Blog. My Apologies. I'll Try to Do Better.

Okay, so I'm really going to try to keep up with this whole 'blog-thing' this time.

You can thank my little sister who is studying abroad in Florence and my friend Sara who has been having crazy South American(right?) adventures this past year for inspiring me to re-start my blog.

I decided to start writing again because it's summer and I don't have classes or any other writing I have to get done by a particular due date.

And I think it's good to keep writing. One of the things I've struggled with in the past, is not writing when I don't have an assignment due for class. And since school doesn't last forever, unless you want to be completely buried in student-loans until you die (that's one of the only ways they will forgive your student-loans--if you die, I read that in the loan agreement), I have decided now is the perfect time to practice writing without assignments.

I guess first I'll recap the end of the semester and give an overview of my plans for the summer.

My second semester of grad school turned out to be way more fruitful or successful than the first. I met two amazing professors and I really saw an improvement in my writing. I had to write a letter to my workshop professor (workshop=writing class for those of you not familiar with writerly terms) and in that letter I had to talk about my progress throughout the semester. Then my professor wrote me back a letter and sent my portfolio along with comments to improve the drafts I sent him. What he wrote back to me was really encouraging. I like to think that I am a writer who is open to criticism and takes that criticism pretty well, but every now and again I think everyone needs a little self-esteem boost. I included twice the amount of required poems (12 instead of six) and my professor told me that I had been holding back and that some of the poems are "tough, funny, and confident." That I seemed to find a "spunky tone" towards the end of the semester and I shouldn't let that go. That was nice to hear after a semester of hard work.

In the beginning of the year I felt like I was playing catch-up compared to some of my classmates because I didn't feel as if I was as well-read as they were. But I think that means that maybe I needed an MFA program more than they did. I don't need someone to reiterate what I already know, I'm looking to learn and develop.

I got two A's for the semester and I think I may have found the two professors that I want to work with on my thesis. My professor for my lit class was as equally encouraging and critical as my workshop professor. In fact, he and I have already been corresponding this summer. He told us we could send him poems over the summer or next semester and I was surprised by how quickly he responded. Within two days he had read the two poems I sent him and had written lengthy comments/suggestions for improvement.

So overall my first year at grad school can be considered a win or a success. I'm excited for the next year to begin especially because I'll be moving in with my grad-school-bestie Eloisa and our new friend Abby who seems like a pretty cool person.

Which leads me to summer plans and plans for next year.

This summer turned out a little differently than I had originally planned. The original plan was to take a summer course, go to Spain for a few weeks for the family vacay and Colorado for the wedding that I am a bridesmaid in. But after talking with my mom I decided to come home to Arizona for the summer to work a little for my parents and to spend some time in the sunshine before I'm cut off from it again all winter (that is another blog all of its own). So, I'm currently sitting on the couch in sunny AZ while I write this blog, after sitting by the pool working on my much needed tan (thank you mom and Brie for telling me, repeatedly, how pale I was when I got back from Boston).

I'm still going to Spain with the family and to CO for the wedding, but now I also get to go to Indiana for my great-grandma's 90th birthday party and I get to spend a little more time with my family and friends on the west coast.

Then at the beginning of August I will be heading back to the east coast to move out of my current apartment and into my new apartment before school starts up again.

So,  as I stated in the beginning of this post, I am going to try my hardest to write at least once a week for the rest of the summer. And if I'm really feeling motivated, hopefully I can keep up with that promise for the rest of the year.

And now I am going to try to get equally as tan as my little sister.

                                                                                ~~~

Time Flies When You Quit Your Job.

It also flies when two of your best friends come for the weekend of St. Patrick's Day. Especially in Boston.

But I'll back up to the job situation. Like the title of this blog states, I quit my job about two weeks ago. And so far, no regrets. Although, it hasn't really felt like I have that much free time because two days after I quit there was the American Writer's and Publishing Conference (AWP).

My spring break consisted of me attending various panels/readings and attempting to absorb all the information/advice/writer-ly things I could. Then class for a few days, then almost an entire week of friends visiting.

First my friend Neil came to visit to check out Emerson because he is considering going there for grad school. He came in on Tuesday. So after my 6 hours of class in a row I met up with him for a couple of drinks and to catch up. We had a really great time but of course I stayed out too late and got no sleep. Then the next day we met up for coffee before he left to check out some other schools in Chicago and DC.

I spent the two hours before Meghan arrived working on my massive 17 page paper that I was re-writing from last semester. I took an incomplete on my paper because I got sick towards the end of the semester and could only turn in a rough draft. Luckily, I have an awesome professor and he gave me extra time to re-write it.

So Meghan arrived at about 4 or 5 on Wednesday, Cait arrived around 4 or 5 on Thursday and the next few days were spent sight-seeing, drinking, girl-bonding and more drinking. It was St. Patrick's day weekend after all, and what better way to celebrate our mutual (although I'm probably the least Irish) heritage but to drink for a couple days straight? Really, we only went out Friday, Saturday and then went to the parade on Sunday (where we drank as well but not as much as I thought we would haha). The parade was insane! Getting there and back was the most packed I've ever seen the T. Literally we couldn't move and at one point I remember Cait in front of me holding my hand and Meghan pressed up/leaning against me from behind and all I knew was that I was fine if those two were surrounding me. We did almost get into a girl fight on the T but that's another (and not very exciting although amusing) story altogether.

Thankfully we got back to my apartment and put Meghan in a cab in time to get to the airport so she didn't miss her flight. Caitlin left the next day and after almost a week straight of entertaining guests, I was sad to see them go but also a little relieved at the peace and quiet alone at my house. But I do have a far better understanding of the T system and it's various lines now that they are gone. One day we walked literally all over the city, switching from line to line and Cait told me we walked 18,000 steps overall the whole day. She has a fit-bit thing for work which apparently counts your steps. So that's something.

After the girls left I was pretty exhausted. I certainly can't hang like I could in college and that's not necessarily a bad thing. But once they were gone I dove right back into school work. I am proud to say that I finished my huge paper last Friday (thank you very much). And now what's left are the final portfolios for the two classes I'm taking this semester.

I can't believe I've been in grad school for almost an entire school year so far. It seems like yesterday I was freaking out in the airport on my way here, not knowing what to expect. I

I am looking forward to this summer and to what next year has to offer with school and with my writing in general. I'm trying to take one summer course before I fly off to Spain with the family and before I'm a bridesmaid in my friend Catherine's wedding.

But before that, I have to finish this semester and luckily I have another visitor to look forward to in the meantime. My lovely, entertaining and loud older sister Kelsie is coming to visit for almost a week around her birthday in April! I cannot wait to have someone from my family/one of my favorite people in the world come see me. After two years of living in the same state and within an hour of each other, it's been really hard being so far away. That being said, I can't wait to show her my new city and to just have her around to do sister-things for a while.

Sorry for my fast, not very literary or writerly update but at least it's an update.

I'll try to write something more profound next time.

Kisses!

                                                                                ~~~

Yet Another Reason Why You Never Send a Boy to do a Girl's Job.

I am in love. It all happened at the Apple store just like I knew it always would...but this time it was a with a girl named Bree.

Now, this is not my not-so-subtle way of coming out. I still like boys...but this girl just saved my writing life.

As you saw from my previous blog, my computer randomly wouldn't turn on one day and when I took it to the Apple store they told me that my hard-drive was done-zo. So I tried in vain to find some computer genie man to get my data off my computer before the hard-drive's inevitable replacement. Well those genie guys blew me off. What nerve.

So, I made another appointment to go to the Genuis Bar at the Apple store to replace my hard-drive, after coming to terms with the fact that my data (aka all the writing I've done in the past few years) is gone. Then I got here and this cool Apple girl changed my entire day. She is currently setting me up with an external hard-drive so I don't ever have to deal with a not-backed-up computer ever again. And she was really cool/helpful about it all.

Not that the other guy wasn't helpful, but I feel like this girl tried to exhaust all of her options before she sent me on my not-so merry way.

So, needless to say, I'm pretty stoked right about now.

Sorry for the short post but my data is almost done backing up and I don't want to her to come over and read over my shoulder and think I'm going to hit on her at the end of this little computer session.


                                                                            ~~~

My Laptop is Broken. Don't Judge Me.

So, I haven't written as often as I said I would. But I feel that I have a valid excuse.

Well a couple of excuses actually.

First, there was a blizzard. I was literally trapped at my friend Gabi's apartment for over 48 hours because they banned people from driving on the roads and all public transportation shut down. I was a little taken aback because in Colorado we dealt with snow a little differently. Probably because everyone had their own Subaru, and those little cars are champs in the snow. And also Colorado doesn't rely as heavily on public transportation as Boston does. We spent the two days watching movies, playing drinking games and one day we even took a little jaunt through the snow. In all, it was a pretty fun blizzard party experience and I am pretty sure that the four of us are bonded for life.

So that is excuse number one. Excuse number two is that my laptop decided one morning that it wasn't going to turn on. I took it to the Apple store and they said that other than the fact that my hard drive is kaputz that my computer is working fine. Which to me was equivalent of them telling me that other than the fact that my engine is broken, my car is running just fine. The hard drive seems like a pretty important part of my computer, but then again, I don't know much about computers. Luckily my computer is only a couple of years old, so it's still under warranty and they can replace my hard drive for free. The only problem is that I hadn't backed up my files anywhere. The funny thing is that I had just been talking the other day about how I really should back up my files especially because of all the writing I've been doing lately. So, I'm currently in the middle of trying to find some computer doctor/genie/man/woman/etc that can get my files off the hard drive before the lovely people at Apple replace it.

That being said, it's been pretty hard for me to get access to a computer with the weather, and work and trying to get to campus. And when I have been on campus I've been doing homework like the good little grad student I am. My friend Eloisa is letting me use her computer over the weekend because she's going to go home to Arizona and she won't need it. She's pretty awesome.

This experience has definitely made me appreciate computers way more than I did before. Because not only is my computer essential for homework and staying connected with all my friends/family, I don't have a TV and my computer is how I watch TV shows and movies. So, I've been doing a lot of reading lately. Even more than I did before, haha, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Also, my room has never been cleaner.

Yesterday I wrote an email to my work telling them that I either need to take a leave of absence from work because they are scheduling me too much, or they need to make some serious changes. Honestly, I kind of just want to quit because I don't like feeling stressed out all the time about something that has no place in my future. This is just supposed to be a job while I'm in school, not my life and I feel like they don't quite understand that. So we shall see how they take the email.

I might just try to find another job, or an internship that understands that school is my priority. And a place that won't bitch every time I try to take time off or want to go home and see my family.  Caitlin and Meghan are coming in March around St Patricks day and my bosses/some of the people I work with told me "don't even bother trying to take any days off around St Patricks day." Which kind of pissed me off, to be honest.

Anywho, those are the highlights of what is going on in my life right now. School, work, blizzard, more school, repeat.

I'm hoping to get this computer nonsense and work nonsense worked out in the next week. All I can do now is cross my fingers.


                                                                         ~~~

Why I'm Destined to Not Work in a Restaurant.

Last night after work I went out with some work people. I wouldn't exactly call them friends because I've never really hung out with them outside of work. And last night gave me a little insight as to why I probably have never hung out with them before.

It was this girl Lauren's last day of work. She and I both got done around the same time so I sat at the bar and had a drink with her. Then we tried the cake that everyone got her for her last day.

Lauren is a nice girl. But she's the type of girl that is used to getting what she wants because she's a skinny/pretty girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes. If anyone reading this knows who Lauren Conrad is, she's a celebrity who got famous from being on a reality TV show, she is basically how this girl Lauren looks. And their names are both Lauren which is kind of funny also.

But anywho, a couple of guys from work (including two of my managers) joined us. We were all sitting around talking and basically the conversation steered around to everyone's views on relationships and how most of the people I was sitting with were in relationships out of convenience. Convenience, security, and essentially the lack of nerve to break up with the actual person. The guys were all giving Lauren a hard time about her boyfriend, probably because they all want to date her. Or at least sleep with her.

I'm not sure if it was because I was tired or what, but I found myself extremely bored by the conversation. At first I thought it was because I didn't know all their inside jokes, or the backstories to a lot of the people they were referencing. I made an excuse to leave and got on the T feeling a little out of sorts.

I thought maybe I was just being a stupid girl and I was jealous of the boys fawning all over Lauren, not that I would even want those particular guys to show any interest in me in the first place. But then this morning it hit me like a snowball in the chest that slowly melted down my shirt (sidenote: that happened to me once walking to class in CO but that's a different story).

There's this famous Eleanor Roosevelt quote that I think perfectly encompasses my feelings after hanging out with these people from work.

"Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people." 

I just can't seem to be content with endlessly discussing other people. I think there are more important things out there. And it really disheartens me that there are people out there that don't have goals, interests and hopes outside of going out and drinking till they can't remember. I'm all for having a good time, don't get me wrong. I love to go out and dance with my girlfriends, in fact I did on Friday night and had a really good time. 

But that's not enough for me. 

Maybe it's a good thing that I worked in a restaurant during my year off from school. And maybe it's a good thing that I am working at a restaurant part-time right now, because it's a constant reminder of what I don't want my life to be. And any time I'm having doubts, which I have from time-to-time and I have had recently, at least I can rest assured that I gave it a shot. 

Even if things don't work out in Boston and I never become a well-respected, published author, at least I dared to believe my life could be something more. More than working just enough to make ends meet and have a few drinks or living for the weekend. 

With that being said, I start my second semester this Thursday. We'll see what happens next...

                                                                            ~~~