Divine Imperfections

A New Dream: Be Hugh Jackman's Wife

Recently I went to bed thinking about how much I’d like to be Hugh Jackman’s wife someday.

And I know what you’re thinking. Wouldn’t we all?

He is, after all, a Broadway star, half man, half wolf, 100 percent Australian dreamboat.

 

But that’s not what I’m talking about, though the man does look good in a suit.

 

To explain what I mean we must first make a short trip back in time. All the way to January 13, in fact.

January 13, 2013.

 

 

I was watching the Golden Globes that night, mostly for the hosting genius but also to see all the gorgeous dresses.

 

Right away I fell in love with Ann Hathaway’s sparkly white ensemble. And I was pleasantly surprised to discover that her unfortunate haircut had grown into a pretty cute pixie by then.

I also figured Tina had to be proud seeing one of her protégés strike it big in Les Mis (Mean Girl to It-Girl). And so, though I’ve yet to see the film, I didn’t mind that there were frequent camera pans to the table featuring the musical’s biggest names.

 

But each time they zoomed in I spotted one very unfamiliar face. A face that would have seemed just as fitting at a PTO meeting, or selecting tomatoes at a Tom Thumb, as it did at an awards gala.

 

Each time they showed her I was taken aback, trying to figure out who it could possibly be.

 

Director? Producer? Screenplay adapter? I couldn’t figure out who it was, or what she’d done so right to be sitting at Jackman’s right hand. But I knew she must be important.

 

And thankfully it didn’t take too long (relatively speaking) to find out how she scored such a place of honor.

 

 

When the good news was announced, that Jackman had won Best Actor in a Motion Picture - Comedy or Musical, his initial reaction was to kiss that unidentified (ever-so-slightly matronly) blond by his side.

 

And when he took the stage to accept his award, speaking in that charming accent of his, he shed further light on the mystery guest - the one with the Fox newscaster haircut.

 

 

The woman I didn’t recognize, the one at a table filled with A-list actors… the one given kisses from the man of many women’s dreams…

 

Was Jackman’s wife. Of seventeen years.

 

Deborra-Lee Furness if you’re Google. Mrs. Jackman if you’re nasty.

(I sure hope at least one person gets this absurd reference.)

 

 

While it was somewhat (and very pleasantly) surprising that Jackman hasn’t traded in his devoted wife for a model-of-the-month club, like so many celebrities of his caliber do, it was far more astonishing to me what he had to say about her on that brightly-lit stage.

 

 

It’s pretty standard to thank a current romantic flame, sure, along with a whole bunch of industry execs no one’s heard of, maybe God or some higher power, the military and beer (if it’s a country music awards show).

Honorees looking for bonus points might also thank the fans, a deceased relative, or the other nominees in their category; those are always crowd pleasers. (Military personnel, hit or miss in that kind of crowd.)

 

But when given a microphone, Jackman did something pretty remarkable (especially for Tinseltown).

 

He dedicated a good chunk of the very small amount of time he was allotted to publicly thanking his wife.

You know, my mystery face. His right-hand woman.

 

Not only did he call her “the greatest woman in the world,” he said she was the one that convinced him to stick with Les Mis, even when it was really hard. She was frequently the one to talk him down from a ledge, he said.

And then, he chuckled, declared in front of the world that she was always right, and said “Babe, I love you.”

 

His dedication couldn’t have lasted more than a minute or two. Yet, by the time the music had played him off stage I had learned a great deal about Jackman’s better half:

 

She found ways to see him through his worst, while coaxing his best out of him.

 

She developed the ability to speak words of affirmation, but undoubtedly worked much harder at the difficult art of shutting up as needed.

 

And most of all, it was clear that at some point she must have count the costs, and chosen to go all in for and with the man she loved and loves still.

 

 

Because she believed in him. Because she wanted the best for him.

And because she knew the best thing would be giving him the freedom and space to chase his dreams.

 

 

In rewatching the speech as “research” for this post it’s even more clear to me how close their bond must be.

Because even before reaching the stage, during the quick exchange they shared when the good news was announced, you could see something special passing between their eyes.

 

And yes; Youtube kept getting stuck on that very spot.

But I think if you watch it for yourselves you’ll see I’m not just grasping at straws.

 

I think you too will notice what I did on the second and third and sixth replay.

 

While the other nominees looked out at the audience, or smiled sheepishly at the camera, Jackman’s immediate reaction was to look straight to his wife.

And when he did she was looking right back at him.

Both of them were beaming from ear to ear. At the nomination first. And then at the win.

 

 

I think what made that moment so special, one worth watching at least once more, and one actually worth dissecting (the way I do so many other foolish things) is that in that moment – that exchange – what you witness is two people sharing a victory together.

 

You see a couple experiencing the kind of multiplication of joy that only happens when you have committed to spend your life with someone, and then, even bigger, choose to stand by that commitment.

 

 

If you strip away the fancy gowns and the TV crews and tables filled with tabloid fodder, what you’ll catch in that moment, that speech, those stolen glances and kisses, is a person reaching a great pinnacle of success, genuinely wanting to share the credit – the achievement – with his spouse, of all people.

His partner. His champion. His plus one. His friend.

 

 

Please don’t get me wrong here.

 

I know. I know; no marriage is perfect.

 

Every couple goes through up and downs.

And I don’t want you to misunderstand me.

 

I’m not saying the Jackmans’ marriage is perfect, or that I want it, or that I want him.

(At least not anymore than the average woman does. Let’s be real.)

 

 

What I am saying, what I do want, is to learn to be a better system of support for my own husband, the one I’ve got.

My partner. My confidante. My friend.

 

I want to be a more tireless encourager, a more patient listener, and a more gumption-y pep talk giver for him.

‘Cause I know he needs those things. And I want to be a source of them. (Unlike every sitcom wife you've ever seen.)

 

I also want to be there to tell him not to give up, even when a dream seems impossible, or an obstacle insurmountable (or another trip to Guitar Center seems entirely unreasonable.)

And that’s not always easy, but I think it’s important.

 

 

I want to pick up the sweaty towel that was thrown in yesterday, wipe his brow with it and tell him to try again. (While somehow still managing to wash the thing at some point. Sweaty boy cooties – gross!)

 

Most of all, I want to do all this supporting out of love, not obligation.

Because my chips are all in, with the man I married. The one I love.

 

 
When I see my husband on the stage at the Grammy’s, or strapping on his guitar at his first sold-out concert…

Or accepting his Master’s Degree, autographing his first book, or holding our first child…

 

… I want to know that not only was I a part of that, but that I did everything in my power to make that moment happen.

 

What I learned while watching the Golden Globes is that I want to be my husband’s right-hand woman.

I want to do my best to help him accomplish his biggest dreams, the way Jackman’s wife obviously did for him.

 

I want to be my husband’s teammate. His faithful companion. His supporter and friend.

His newscaster haircut. His quick kisses after victory.

His beaming wifey, and his biggest fan.

 

 

*Thanks to the internet for letting me borrow/alter the image above.

And thank you to my hubby, for graciously approving this message.

Why My Super Heroes Don't Need Tights (Or Voice Boxes or Glasses)

Since no photos of me dressed as the self-labeled super hero Smoke-Free Man (my sidekick was Tobbaco Terminator)
survived after that ridiculously embarrassing  junior high science assignment,
you'll have to settle for random pictures accompanying today's post.
They reminded me of Gotham Ciy (except for one surprise); so there you go.

I’ve probably mentioned this before, but when I moved to a new school in third grade I milked it for everything it was worth.

Somehow keeping my head low, and being terrified to talk, I managed to make that mystical “New Kid” appeal last two whole years.

True. By junior high I was back to just being the “quiet girl,” the “teacher’s pet.” But for a few glorious years I was cool. I had sidewalk cred.

 

It was wonderful.

 

The sad, flipside of that story is that I taught myself at a young age that my best shot at being admired was… to keep very quiet.

Silent mostly.

Let people savor the mystery. The unknown. Surely it’d be better than anything I could say.

 

 
So, for a LOT of my life I have been pretty mute about a lot of things. From big things like what I believe happens when we die, to little things like where I wanna eat dinner…. I’ve struggled to speak up. I’ve hesitated to share my honest opinions, thoughts.

I’ve hidden my true identity from even those closest to me… at times so convincingly I have fooled myself into believing I don’t have opinions.

 

Since I was a child I have wanted so badly to be liked, to be deemed good, that I attempted to bury anything I perceived as a problem, a flaw.

And for a really long time I thought this served me well.

 

I thought it made me wise, not throwing my heart around. And I thought it made me easygoing, not always (hardly ever) expressing my opinions… I figured it made me the kind of girl people want to be friends with, the type they want to hang out with (even if it will take twice as long to decide where to meet for lunch).

When I was around people – whether strangers or close friends - I pretty much stuck with my same safe stories, the ones I’d rehearsed in previous conversations with people I’d let get to the exact same level of connection.

But then, when the safe stories dried up so did I. I shut down. I grew quiet, again, unsure how to proceed after the security of superficial conversation.

 

Lately, I’m starting to see the drawbacks to assumed apathy as a personality trait. I’m catching glimpses of the dark side of trying to please everyone with little regard for myself.

 

And long story very short, I blame my husband for this.  

(Do not stop reading here.)

 

Along with interesting music and Morning Star meatless products, Mikael has done a darn good job of introducing me to comic book heroes. X-Men, Batman, Spiderman… the man knows his… well, comic men.

And while I was reluctant at first I’ve come to enjoy a good Marvel-esque movie from time to time. In fact, recently, even though he wasn’t home, I caught myself watching Spiderman 3.

 

Let’s be honest, Tobey McGuire is more convincing as a 4-foot-tallish horse jockey than a superhero in any book, still I found myself engrossed in the story of a nerdy kid bent on vengeance, who somehow finds a purpose greater than himself.

 

More importantly, I found myself longing for James Franco’s character to make peace with his former best friend. The same way I always hope Katie Holmes will forgive Bruce Wayne (even before he turns out to be… SPOILER ALERT: BATMAN!).

 

Anyways, I got sucked into Spiderman, just like Batman and X-Men, for basically one reason… I wanted to see if two characters could get past their differences. I wanted to know if they would reconcile what had obviously been a super important relationship to them both… a friendship that had been torn apart by a fundamental disagreement. I wanted to see if they could learn to get along, even though their vulnerability with one another had allowed them to be hurt deeply.

 

I won’t spoil the ending of Spiderman 3 for you, just in case like me you’re a good four to eight years behind on your comic characters. But, I will say this...

 

I am always amazed, impressed and a bit envious when I see people disagree gracefully, be it comic characters or real people.

In fact, I think I’m more impressed when I see real people, with different backgrounds and different priorities, making their friendships work. I can’t help but be in awe of the bravery it takes to open oneself up for the sake of relationship.

 

What peace must come in trusting someone enough
to knowingly share something you know they won’t like…
not to hurt them but because it needs to be said.

What joy there must be in a connection so deep
you know no amount of dissent can end it.

 

Even when I didn’t talk much I couldn’t manage to avoid conflict altogether. That’s the irony in people pleasing. No matter how hard you work at it, it won’t work for you. There will always be people upset. Always be people unhappy with you. And it’s not just the strangers.

Worse, is that the few people that matter most will likely be some of the ones most hurt by your guardedness. What began as a safety net can become a liability. What was meant to protect, ends up holding you back. (See The Dark Knight Rises for a poignant display of this principle.)

 

Hiding keeps you from succeeding in truly knowing and being known… and at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all really want?! To be known!

 

 

My old (painfully effective) manner of dealing with conflict was to avoid the situation (meaning whoever I was in conflict with) until things had settled.

I bottled my feelings in the moment and then ran home to bury them more thoroughly, usually in a diary entry or a box of Kleenex/carton of ice cream combo.

 

It wasn’t flawless, but I figured it was a system that was working for me.

That is, until I had to go and get married. 

(See now how this is husband's fault?)

 

It turns out avoiding/ignoring stressful situations is nearly impossible when you live with, carpool with, try to rent movies with someone.

It turns out it’s a lot easier to keep someone at arm’s distance when you don’t have to sleep beside him every night.

It’s more possible to hide your true feelings, opinions and deepest thoughts when you haven’t vowed to become one with another human being, one that seems genuinely interested in knowing you, and not just the more polished parts you’ve let others see in the past, but all of it.

 

The morning breath, the moodiness, the melancholy days, the super annoying moments when you act like a junior high girl with a crush, who just wants to tickle you ‘til you pee your pants... (What? Like you didn't do that in junior high?)

 

The learning curve on letting someone in – to truly see you in all your flawed humanity – is super steep I think. Even for super heroes.

But it's especially hard for people like myself that have spent much of their existence attempting to perfect people pleasing.

And what I think that means for me is that the next 28-years are probably gonna be filled with more awkward silences, struggles and growth pains than I would have liked.

 

But, I think it might also mean that hope has at last sprouted in my heart… a tiny seedling of hope that someday my husband might actually see me as I am, because I might be comfortable enough to show him the unpolished parts (the emotional armpits if you will, and I have really ugly armpits).

 

It used to be that when I watched the superhero movies I always labeled the heroes stupid for trying to mask their true identities with tights or glasses. “Who are they fooling?” I’d think, while watching them change in a phone booth or speaking in baritone so we “wouldn’t know” it was Bruce Wayne all along. Riiight...

But, here lately I’ve come to sympathize with their struggle… you want more than anything for someone to know you and accept you, but still, it’s hard to remove that mask.

 

Someday I pray that I will trust most of the humans I know and meet enough to give them my true opinion. How I long to say how I really feel about the big stuff (like kids’ names) and the little stuff (like quinoa).

I hope I will begin to value myself enough to believe that what I think matters.

 

But beyond that, and more importantly, I also have a deep desire, a growing conviction really, to let my husband see my true self. All of it.

 

Like that blue chick from X-Men: First Class,  it's time I embrace who I really am, and stop hiding out. Only I'm probably still gonna wear clothes. Not tights, for goodness sake, but pants, and shirts...

 

I think it would be absolutely super to be that brave… to have the courage not to dress up in some crazy costume and try to save the world, but to simply be present. To live without a mask, to act on conviction, and to be bold enough to speak… 'cause I truly do believe that's what the world is crying out for... people.

 

Flawed, ordinary humans brave enough to come out of hiding... those are the kind of heroes I look up to.

Thanks friends for being some of those people.

And thanks Husband, for giving me something to aspire to.

The Hunger Games

It seems fitting that the husband and I would go see the year's biggest movie - The HUNGER Games - the day we started our new diet.

And even though I had a vague idea that we were about to watch a movie about teens fighting to the death. And even though I wasn't starving. Or utterly deprived. Much less being required to kill my peers.

All that reasoning wasn't able to minimize my pain as I had to walk past popcorn, Coke, Resse's Pieces, and my greatest weakness - cheap hotdogs.

 

I'm not proud of the fact that I'm that much of a wimp when it comes to maintaining willpower around processed meats and sweet treats. But I totally am.

So weak.

 

The crazy thing is, we're not going on a crash diet. We're not cutting back to 500 calories a day. We're not even eliminating all carbs.

We're just trying to eat healthier. We're trying to be healthy.

But I'm terrified it's gonna kill me!

Day one (Tuesday) was pretty miserable. I was sure I would die. Or that Mikael would demand an annulment by day's end.

I was cranky. And tired. And generally unpleasant. (No comments please coworkers!)

 

When I had to take our unopened package of 100th Anniversary Oreos to work I nearly lost it. I mean, I was seriously fighting tears. (WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?)

 

But by day three (today, Thursday) things are... better.

I passed the Oreos multiple times without tears.

I ate my afternoon snack of Grapes (instead of King-sized candy) without complaint.

And, even when two bags full of brownies, cake mixes and icing galore joined those lonely Oreos on my friend's desk I didn't completely loose my cool.

I just thought to myself, "the odds are definitely NOT in my favor."

 

Still. We press on.

With our non-processed, NO MEAT diet.

With our roasted vegetable and wheat pasta dinner. And, with our no-sugar added fruit juice dessert. :/

 

It's strange. It's ever-so-slightly difficult at times. But deep deep down, where several pieces of swallowed gum undoubtedly still live, I do know this is good.

 

It is good to eat healthier.

It is good to be healthier.

It is good for me.

And it is good for us.

 

To be refined by, ironically cutting out all that refined white sugar, together.

'Til death do us part, and all that.

 

*Pictures are compliments of a quick Google search. I don't own them. All but the Entertainment Weekly picture are linked up though in case you just have to see the source.

*By the way. Mikael and I both really enjoyed The Hunger Games very much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forces of Nature

Last night after dinner my husband :) and I decided to make a quick run to the absolute nearest “grocery” store for exactly two necessities:

1.  
   1. Coffee filters
   2. Ice cream!!!

But when we realized that the Family Dollar was sorely lacking in Blue Bell, we headed to the next best thing, CVS, which is literally next door.

Great Divide (chocolate and vanilla) ice cream. Check.

Sour cream for Tuesday’s dinner. Check.

Long time spent looking at dollar dog toys wondering if my new puppy newphew (pics coming soon) would approve. Check.

 

And so we headed home, where we realized we forgot the coffee filters. DOH!

 

Knowing how crucial they were to my enduring  surviving “enjoying” the III hours of Star Wars we were slated to watch, I improvised.

 

I always wondered if people really borrowed cups of sugar from each other back in the day. And I still don’t know the answer to that.

But I do know if your neighbors are cool enough to still have a coffee pot that requires filters, they’ll probably be cool enough to share, III. Yay!

And speaking of sharing, I won’t lie to you. It took not half, not even one or two, but two and a half movies for me to get remotely interested kinda hooked on the whole Star Wars thing. I still feel pretty nerdy about it, but what can you do… the things we do for love, right?

 

It was actually Darth Vader’s transformation that won me over to the “dark side” if you will, or at least made me extra interested in seeing how things turn out for my new pals Obi-Won, R2D2 and charming little Yoda.

 

So wish us luck with IV, V and VI, and I’ll wish you better luck than we had “grocery” shopping.

Also, as my Jedi friends say, "May the force be with y’all. "  ;)

And the award goes to...

*Spoiler Alert: I really try to keep things fairly positive. I like to look on the brightside of life. And I definitely don't want to be one of those haters that just whines and rants about all that's wrong in the world.

But, even us optimists like to keep it real, and what you're about to read, well, it's as real as it gets. It's my honest review of my latest cinematic adventure. Please don't hate me for taking this opportunity to be a tiny bit of, well, a hater.*

 

First off, I think Jessie and I deserve an award, for making it through the entire Twilight movie without getting stoned (for laughing) or thrown out (for standing up and screaming "Are You Kidding Me?") at the ridiculousness that was witnessed tonight.

Yes, we went in for entertainment, and good-hearted mockery, but "WERE THEY KIDDING ME?"

Months of hype about that?

 

To put things into perspective, one of the first scenes in the movie involved Bella standing in her bedroom, looking angsty. Possibly because she was about to get married and move out of her father's house; that's at least a relatable scenario.

Sadly, the more likely options are that she was just slightly bummed about her upcoming honeymoon (during which she planned to cease being human). And most definitely because that's just how Kristen Stewart's face always looks. Let's be real.

But I bring up the scene not just to pick at the melancholy of it. I mention it because in her room there was a pretty cute painting of a dog.

And in my humble opinion that painting deserves an award... for the best thing about the film.

 

Not kidding. (I wish I was.)

 

The music. The effects. The acting. The wardrobe (I'm pretty sure they used an old figure skating costume as Bella's wedding dress). The sad waste of Anna Kendrick's genuine talents.

The fact I forgot to bet anyone how long it would take for Taylor Lautner's shirt to come off (about 4 minutes I'd say).

That's not to mention the traumatic scenes involving styrofoam and a straw filled with O-negative. Plus a certain glittery cat "man" eating a baby out of a tummy. (Hello nightmare material, and compelling birth control.)

It's impossible to pinpoint exactly just where this movie went wrong, but if I absolutely had to guess, I'd say sometime after the previews and before the credits!

 

But I'm sure I seem very, very judgmental. And that's not really a legacy I want to leave. So let me at least attempt to present some positives, here.

 

The couple next to Jessie, the one that spent the entire time making out, seemed to have a good time.

And I really enjoyed the Scooby Snacks (fruit snacks) I snuck in my coat pocket.

Also, a mom in the theater had the good sense to take her toddler out AFTER the incredibly awkward sex scenes. (They came back a few minutes later. :/)

Plus, there was one genuinely funny scene. At least, I think watching Ashley Greene "punch" a brood of CGI werewolves was meant to be a joke. Right?

 

If you are still reading this and wishing I'd stop complaining already... wondering why I spent $6 to see it in the first place... or DEEPLY offended 'cause either you find vampire movies distasteful OR you are a Twihard... well I'm sorry I offended you.

But for the rest of you - it's not too late. Save yourselves. And the $6 bucks.

Instead of wasting your time "Breaking Dawn" I highly recommend you check out an Oscar-worthy film (by comparison). It's called Footloose. You're welcome in advance.

OR, you could just watch this highly superior short film featuring a werewolf.

Have a great weekend friends.

 

... And Fancyfree

So tonight my sister and I got dolled up (put on something other than sweatpants) and headed out to the theatre (the one closeby with the $1 hotdogs)... and we... had the BEST NIGHT EVER.

Not an exaggeration.

If, like me, you sometimes take life too seriously and just need to relax... I've got a one word solution for you. That word?

FOOTLOOSE!!!

Having never seen the original, I must say, the 2011 version... PRICELESS! Which makes it definitely worth the $12 we paid, $11.75 if you deduct the quarter I found on the carpet afterwards. SCORE!

 

So, where to begin...

Julianne Hough, thank you for making pastor's kids everywhere look like "angels." 'Preciate it much.

And Dennis Quaid. What happened to the likable guy in Let's Give 'Em Something To Talk About? Frequency? Even that movie where you were a teacher/baseball player?

Whatever happened, he did not show up for filming on Footloose. I cry for you.

Of course, speaking of not showing up... can we talk about the lead guy's dancing skills. Just saying?

What... you're super super angry? Good idea! Go gymnastics-itout across a cotton gin. That looks awesome. Really. (This is one of many points in the film where we tried - in vain - to suppress giggles. For other such moments, go see the movie. Really.)

 

Maybe I'm being harsh. But please, can someone, anyone back me up that it was Hi-larious??

I may never wear Levi's again, after watching so many butt shots of thirtyyearolds "teenagers" shaking their things.

Also, I'm less inclined to wanna visit Georgia. Thank you fictional Bomont.

Or heed Andie McDowell's advice when it comes to L'Oreal. ("Good job Ariel.")

 

The one redeeming quality of the movie? The lights in the inevitable dance scene were pretty awesome.

Well, also....

Nope that was pretty much my favorite part. :)

 

In light of girls' night getting off to such a super start we have decided to continue the fun.

Wish us luck; I've never had this much Bacon in my life. I'm not sure it's healthy. ;)

P.S.  Having made it forty minutes into the original, I'm so glad to know who to thank for Pajama Jeans. :)

An Excellent Adventure

"It is indeed a pleasure to introduce you to a gentleman we picked up in medieval Mongolia in the year 1269. Please welcome, the very excellent barbarian...MR. GENGHIS KHAN!"

 

Okay. I'm not gonna introduce to Khan, Genghis, Chaka or otherwise.

I am, though, gonna share a discovery I made thanks to my own magic time machine. (And or extensive image searching over the past few weeks.)

It's my humble little abode, several months ago. Before my card table got replaced by a dinette set. Before stuff got hung on the walls. And, before that stupid night I sat in the orange chair (pictured above) which is very ugly but oh sooo comfortable, and accidentally erased my entire iPhoto library. Oops.

Turns out a lot/most/maybe all the pictures were still hiding away various places, which, makes me oh so very very happy. Particularly since they're now saved to a portable hard drive. Whew.

 

We may not have time machines (yet!) but isn't it crazy how far technology truly has come? It doesn't seem like that long ago I was dropping off rolls of 35mm at Wal-Mart, anxiously waiting weeks (and allowances) to see how my pictures turned out.

And now, with the click of a few buttons I can delete the digital versions of those snapshots. And sometimes, bring them magically back again.

I guess I still love technology. Always and forever. Even if sometimes makes me want to rip out my hair... the happy tears make it worthwhile, kinda like a lot of things in life I suppose.

 

Happy Monday's over my dear, sweet, digital friends.

Awkward & Awesome: Love at First Letter

I have some truly AWESOME! news.

By now the five of you already know that I'm a huge dork fanatic when it comes to words. "Words are my life," as my alter ego once said. And basically they are.

So it's really quite unbelievable that it has taken me this long to jump onto a wagon that has been mesmerizing my friends and family members (and making them really lame dinner company) for over a year now.

But, the day has finally come, and I could not be happier. Even if I am unfashionably late to the party.

 

Hello Words with Friends. It's nice to meet you. My name is "Jenferder."

 

Seriously. Best. App. Ever! (Not counting the William Shatner one, of course.)

If you're really cool you should look me up, mostly so I won't have to keep playing with strangers. But also, so I won't have to check my phone so obsessively to see if it's "Your Move" yet. I really don't like waiting. Not for Words at least.

Now at this point I'm starting to feel uncannily similar to Sandra Bullock's not-so-lovable, crossword constructor character in "All About Steve" (which I give a D - to by the way). So... I'm gonna try to ease my way out of word territory. And as an added measure I will continue to resist the urge to wear ridiculous red pleather boots. Difficult but worth it.

 

I'll also proceed with some unrelated awesome stuff and awkwardness from this past week.

 

Awkward: Laying poolside, trying to read, while high schoolers make out in the pool. Especially since they were babysitting her little sister/daughter/their little sister (ewww) at the same time.

Awesome: Having fantastic tan lines to show off at work on Tuesday after a great Memorial Day weekend. (By awesome tan lines I mean both hooker-like halter straps around my neck AND a farmer's tan on my arms. Basically, I've been a farmer's ho this week, hence the need to spend lots more time poolside.)

Awkward: How the Bank of America security people must have felt watching me deposit my paycheck with only one hand. Not 'cause I had the other hand on the steering wheel, but because it was shoveling pizza into my mouth. Some people say multi-tasking actually makes us less effective, but I say why wouldn't I eat my dinner while doing a drive-thru deposit?

Awesome: "Bossypants." As a book. A nickname. And a lifestyle. And speaking of which... "running" a meeting with your coworkers - i.e. people who are on the exact same rung of the corporate ladder with you - is equally awesome. In addition to Tina Fey's wise leadership guidance, I chalk this one up to my rearranged office.

Apparently if you position comfy chairs towards your desk people will come. And if you frequently wear your hair in a bun they will take you seriously when you talk. AND, if you have a chalkboard/magnet board hanging above your desk with post-its, family photos, and an eye patch hanging from it, you can even get away with using a makeshift pointer to prove your points.

Basically, this afternoon, I totally got away with playing the grown-up version of school, which I'd like to think would make my teddy bears and Cabbage Patch Kids really proud if they could see me now. They were, afterall, my first pupils.

Awkward: Having your phone die in the middle of a riveting game of 20 Questions with a stranger... which I guess was my gateway into Words With Friends. I have to say... that game is a lot harder than I remembered (or that it looked like during the special features of "The Go Getter." Brother, can you back me up on this?).

Awesome: Being photographed while blogging. That is not awkward at all. Nope. I was born for the dim came-with-the-camera flash light. Bring it on Gwendolyn.

Awkward: When your fancy travel mug leaks on your lap and you have to walk around with sweet tea in an area more commonly reserved for other kinds of accidents.

Awesome: Planning Friday's pizza lunch on Tuesday. You gotta have goals, I always say.

Awkward: Knowing you won't be able to drive to said lunch because you still have a month's worth of recyclables (what some would call trash) floating under your passenger seat.

Awesome: Now that enough "time" has passed, I would just like to reiterate, it really has been love at first letter, today. Especially since my first set included an X... Ca-ching! 8 points. Watch out sister.

 

I wish I had more to share. But... I've gotta head to the laundromat now. It's where all the cool kids in Waco go on Thursday nights in case you were wondering. You know, the cool kids... the ones who get really excited to play "TAXES" and "WINCER."

Have a fabulous  wondrous  miraculous  astonishing prodigious Friday Eve. 

 

Awesome and also totally awkward, basically, just another Thursday

I didn't come up with this idea. I just love it. So I'm stealing it running with it. Not literally of course. I don't run. Not in Elmo shirts or otherwise. You should know that by now.

I walk briskly. Sometimes skip if the mood strikes. But never run. Not EVEN if my life depends on it.

The only exception to this rule looks a little something like this. I'm sure you understand, right?

 

Now, down to the A/A business.

 

AWESOME:
*   When your day kicks off with a text from a friend saying that a teen running in an Elmo t-shirt reminded him of you

AWKWARD:
*   When the friend doesn't get that you're joking when you say you always go for a run in the morning followed by several hours of  Nick Junior watching (apparently I have not reiterated enough that I don't have CABLE!)

AWESOME:
*  When your boss says "Wanna go to lunch?"

AWKWARD:
* When the lunch invite comes at 11 a.m. just as you're finishing your first cup of coffee
*  And when the invite is to head to an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet... at 11:00 a.m.!!!

 

AWESOME:
*   Listening to Mat Kearney and friends all day, and writing my favorite lyrics on my hands 

AWKWARD:
*   Explaining why your right hand says "breathe out" to coworkers

AWESOME:
*   Being granted a mid-day break to run to the bank
*   Using bank run to eat a McDouble at 3:35 p.m. (Hey, it was a light pizza buffet brunch, okay?)
*   Learning the difference between a McDouble ($1) and a Double Cheeseburger ($More) is exactly ONE piece of  "cheese"

AWKWARD:
*  Discovering the bank closes at 3 p.m.*
*  Returning to work smelling like "beef" and pickles  (at least I clocked out)

AWESOME:
*   Turning my rent in, tucked inside a pretty blue stationary envelope 'cause I don't have the boring white ones

AWKWARD:
*   Having to use the "grace period" to pay rent because I haven't owned personal checks since 2004
*   And 'cause my bank apparently closes at 3 p.m.* and it's hard to find places that do money orders in a debit card age

 

AWESOME:
*   Stopping to pick up some bubbly (the grape juice kind) for dinner

AWKWARD:
*   Getting carded at the grocery store while buying grape juice

AWESOME:
*   Actually this was pretty hilarious to me, and just a little humiliating for the poor cashier whose cheeks flushed
*   He said simply, "It's been a day!" to which I wanted to reply, "Hey I know. I ate barbecue chicken pizza for breakfast."

 

And finally...

AWKWARD:
*   Spending at least five minutes running jogging laps around the meat section of Wal-Mart trying to figure out if breakfast pork is the right sausage for meatballs (I know the guy selecting frozen chicken noticed!)

AWESOME:
*   Having a friend instruct me towards the Italian sausage, a very good call
*   Coming back to my apartment and watching "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" with a culinarily gifted friend who prepared spaghetti and of course meatballs for the occasion 

Below: Red or white, Mountain Dew that is. It's good to have likeminded friends. 

Above: Hitting the bottle after the guests have gone home.

 

All in all, a pretty good day, and a splendid evening I'd say.

And I sure hope you can say the same!

Happy almost weekend everyone. 

Stupid stigmas

I don't know why there's such a stigma about counseling. As if the only people that can see a therapist are the ones on the border of losing it, and only then if they think they're gonna lose it in some particularly dramatic, or especially violent fashion.

But really? Who says you have to be severely nuts to talk to someone who's been trained to listen? 

And who decides what qualifies as nuts anyways?

If you ask me, and I know you didn't, but if you did ask me, I'd tell you... I think we're all nuts. Just varying flavors, and varying brands, maybe. But nuts all the same.

If that's the case, maybe the real trick in life isn't spending all our energy trying to become something none of us are - meaning NORMAL. Maybe the key is just finding other nuts that mix well with you... nuts that could form a nice party mix so to speak... and maybe finding one special nut who asks other nuts "how does that make you feel?" for a living. 

And on that nutty note, I watched "It's Kind of a Funny Story" tonight. And I more than kind of loved it.

I'm sure it's not for everybody, but man, I found it oddly refreshing.

Basically... the movie is about a kid (a kid who could be you or me or anyone else you know) who wakes up one day and finds his very good life utterly depressing. The PRESSURE has just become too too much for him, so he BRAVELY checks himself into a psych unit.

And though that's where you'd expect things to get worse. Scary. CRAZY!!!! It's actually in the mental ward that things take a turn for the better.

It's there that the boy (you, me, all our friends) finally discovers hope... hope in the form of true friends who graciously accept him as he is, and in doing so give him the freedom to be utterly himself.

It's there that the boy discovers what he really needed wasn't doctors or meds or time away from his very pale father (or at least it wasn't just those things) - it was freedom. Freedom that was extended to him by the sick people all around him. It was the sick people that really helped the boy get better.

It was the "crazy folks," the ones he originally feared, that actually opened him up to the healing process. And it was those precious people who taught him how to have fun again. To enjoy his life again.

In an essence, they're the ones who reminded him how to breathe.

 

I don't know about you but there are days I definitely need friends like that. Friends that don't look at me like I'm an idiot 'cause I can't remember which comes first, the inhaling or the exhaling. Friends who just smile at me and say, "I know you're nuts, but what am I?"

And I'm blessed to have some friends like that. Really blessed. But I don't know if I've been that same kind of blessing. I think too often I've been afraid of labels bouncing back and getting stuck on me, to help a friend in need by saying, "Yea, I'm screwed up too."

Now I'm not implying that we all need to flood the "loony bin" to be happy. Or even sit around sulking in our various forms of dysfunction.

But I do think we might be better off if we didn't try so hard to keep up appearances, and started being REAL with each other. Started being REAL with ourselves.

What a relief it might be if we finally started admitting that we don't have all the answers. We don't have it all together.

What a burden might be lifted if we could finally just admit that deep dark secret we've been hiding all these years...

 

that we're HUMAN. 

 

I think the very nature of being human means that we're always getting there, but never there yet. Always growing, but not grown yet. And yet we want to make others believe we're there. We're done. Probably because WE WANT TO BELIEVE IT TOO.

But we're not. There's no such thing as perfect people. Period. And that can be dang FRUSTRATING! Enough to drive us mad, if we let it.

But there is an alternative to getting mad. To slowly driving ourselves mad. 

And it's choosing to live by grace.  Instead of hiding in a padded room of "perfection," it's stumbling our way through this crazy, mixed nut world together. 

And it's learning that ol' familiar prayer too often reserved for "addicts" or "in-house patients." The prayer that we all could use. The one that begs God to help us accept what we can't change, change what we can, and most especially for the wisdom to know the difference.

I think what we might hear if we said it, is that we can't change having to breathe in and out. We can't change that we're human. WE can't change that we're flawed and imperfect and will be 'til we're called home.

But we can change the way we treat ourselves and others. We can choose grace. And I think that's a choice that counts for a lot more than we think.

I think it counts for an awful LOT actually.

In fact, I think accepting God's grace and doling it out counts for pretty much everything in this life.

But then again, what do I know? I'm just another cashew.

 

"The difference between today and last Saturday is that or the first time in a while,
I can look forward to the things I want to do in my life...
bike, eat, drink, talk, ride the subway, read, read maps, make maps, make art, hug my mom...
have a party, tell people my story, volunteer... draw more... run, travel, skip,
yea I know it's lame but skip anyways. Breathe. Live." 
* It's Kind of a Funny Story 

 

I don't know where this will find you. I don't know how these words will find you. But I do hope they might inspire you to show a little kindness in the face of crazy. The kind of crazy that catches us staring at it in the mirror and out every window we will ever see.