no more pants

i went to a movie by myself...but i wasn't alone.

if you ask me there is nothing better than going to a movie by yourself...as far as activities you do alone go.

you don't have to worry about finding an entire row of seats for your friends. you don't have to wait for someone to go potty at the end. you just sit right down, open your smuggled plastic bag of bulk gummies and enjoy the show.

i looked around the theatre to see who was joining me. couples. couples. couples. and then a couple women in their 40's and 50's who were also enjoying the show alone. i was in good company.


i like being in good company but i also like being alone. i need to be alone a lot because my brain has a lot happening. i like to talk to myself and sometimes i do 10th grade show choir routines in front of the mirror. i like to not wear pants. that's the biggest reason i like to be alone.

pants are really a hassle sometimes. and please--people who sleep in pants? you are insane. you are like people who watch the nurses take the blood from your arm. crazy pant wearing lunatics.  don't your legs get hot? don't you feel trapped?

i tried to wear pants to sleep a few times. never worked. my friend aj would come and wake me up on the weekends and i would have him wait at the door to see if my pants somehow stayed on during the night. it wouldn't have mattered, i guess ,because aj did accidently see me without pants on once before. he also saw me dancing and singing to the little house on the prairie theme song. the latter was more embarrassing.

College Ruled (or the post that is uncomfortably uncharacteristic for this blog))

i have a spiral notebook in which i keep stories and notes that i would never post on here. there are letters to friends that i'll never send, poems i would die from embarrassment if you read, and lists.

lists of things to do. lists of things i love. there is even a list of 100 reasons i like one of my friends.

there is one list that was easy to write. it is long and ugly and if i read it over i cry. a list i wrote in a fit of hurt and sadness and confusion.

we all have a list like this, but mostly it is written on our heart and not in a notebook. its a list of all the things wrong with us. all of things that make us not good enough.

not good enough for him to like me.
not good enough for that job.
not good enough to have the life i dreamed of.
not good enough to be the person i was made to be.
not. good. enough.

i've been having a lot of not good enough days. transferring my notebook list to my heart. allowing these  little words to engulf my heart and mind, bogging my spirit down with self-loathing and feelings of unworthiness.

i tried to remedy this by making a list of all the reasons i was good enough. forced humility didn't get me too far.

i'm funny.
i'm smart.
i'm moderatly attractive.
i'm nice.

naturally, i scribbled them out. it was so much easier to name all the "bad" things.

i sat in my car crying today. wishing i was someone else. wishing i had a different life. wishing i looked different. wishing i could be all the things i wasn't.

then i would be worthy of his affection.
then i would be worthy of that job.
then i would be worthy of a happy life.
then i would be worthy to be the person i was made to be. the person i should have been.
then i would be worthy of god's love.

as i sat there, crying, contemplating, confusing other drivers with my poofy eyes and elephant tears god  told me something i already knew. something i think have always known but tell myself not to believe.

i am already worthy of all those things. that my list of all the reasons i am good enough is complete with just one phrase--god adores me.

i was created worthy of these things because i was created by god who reveled in design and creativity as he crafted humanity to resemble him, in all of his perfection and splendor.

i know my theology will be disputed, but i believe with all my heart that god adores me as is. he has created me perfectly. that i am not some despicable creature who's sins make me so unlovable that only an infinite being, who using all his strength, could love me, despite my backsliding. nor do i think that he loves me because of my sinning ways and his heroic grace. i think he just loves me.

as with many disillusioned evangelicals,  there is a deep seed to dismiss the goodness in myself. to not acknowledge the beautiful parts of humanity. we are, of course, retched sinners who are lucky to be loved, right? or wrong?...i've come to believe in the idea that we are as a whole not inherently bad. i think we're inherently good--but that we have a broken relationship with god that needs repair (think beautiful painting that must must be carefully restored to it's original glory via careful handiwork and gentle processes. is that a good cheesy analogy?). whoops. don't tell my theology professor.

what am i saying? do i make sense? it doesn't matter. most of the time i don't even understand myself. but it doesn't matter what i think. what matters  mostly is how i feel.

what i am feeling is relief. realization. reconnection.

i'm awesome. more than just smart and funny and nice and moderately attractive. i am a whole lot of wonderful things that were knit up all together to create me. a perfect amalgamation of colorful characteristics and unique qualities and beauty that stems from divine love. i'm a masterpiece created by a more talented artist than van gough, monet or degas.

and so are you. in all your hopelessly flawed moments, you're beautiful. god delights in your life as you really live. as you laugh and cry and wonder what the hell is happening, he is adoring the fragility and strength of your humanity.  

someone very wise once told me that the highest form of worship is to enjoy living. in all of its hardships and heartaches...to celebrate ourselves and others and really love each other and who we are too. to see each other as worthy of our time, energy and attention, because we are worthy of the lamb/love/life/happiness/sadness/ in all of our moments. in our triumphs and mess ups and all those awkward times in between, . etc. etc. etc.  blah blah blah. good reminder to me as i struggle to find my bearings in a new place. as i am feeling alone and exposed and wondering where to plant my feet and with whom to celebrate and cry with.

it is going to take a lot of confidence to push "publish" on this weird little note i've written in my bed next to an old banana peel and the spiral notebook.  it's awkward and strange and written in 15 minutes with furious fingers and tears and laughter and some john mayer music. it probably didn't make you laugh, but i did because it is outrageously vunerable for me to share--thoughts and feelings my usual "total depravity" tells me to go without sharing...pretty much straight from my spiral notebook... but they're important to me, and maybe to you too.

15 dollar ikea blanket cocoon

today was a bad day, but the great news is that tomorrow will be better! how do i know? because i was on the dean's list.

bad days are a dime a dozen. for me, they're usually caused by lack of sleep... which is surprising, because the best days of my life were spent in the edgren study lounge until 5 in the morning. i guess christer casem did find me catchin' some zzz's with my arms behind my head and one knee propped up when i shouldda been in creative writing. i didnt need it. i gotz good grammar and sentence structure.

my mom said when i was a baby, i never slept more than 10 minutes. sorry, mom. i'm making up for it now. i love me a good nap. cocooning myself in blanket happiness, putting on my pretty little fan and loosing myself in partially lucid dreams. add a dog in that mix and i am in 7th heaven. barry watson, jessica beil and i are on very good terms these days. don't awake me until i am ready though, or a beast will be awakened. this beast makes very strange noises and contorts her body in awkward positions until joints pop to perfection. an ipod alarm slowly introducing a soft james taylor song is the best way to go about it...but even that can be dangerous.

i wear an apron at work. that came in really handy today when i had no choice but to wear a pair of pants a size too small. aprons protect your clothing from spills, but also your customers from seeing that you didn't zip or button your pants.

no look ball

for the rest of my life, i have to have a job. that is, of course, if i don't become permanently disabled. the rest of my life could be a pretty long time. i should start to figure out what i should do. i figure by the time i figure it out, i will only have about half my life left. that doesn't seem quite as long.

one of my best friends in the whole world is coming to visit me soon. we're not quite certain how we became such kindred spirits, but it had something to do with being the only two chubby people in our group of friends. and our love of spicy chips and top the tater. in the heyday of our friendship and at our heaviest weights, we thought of a fun game to play outside of our leadership class in college. we called it "no look ball". you basically played catch while using only your peripheral vision. it doesn't sound too fantastic, but believe you me, it brings the lolz. one day we got a little to into the game and didn't notice our class had started. when we realized this we made a run for the door and as we both tried to enter at the same time, we got stuck. i am not joking. WE GOT STUCK IN A DOORWAY. we attempted 3 times to shove our portly little bods through that frame until we fell to the ground laughing. can this get better? yes-- the class was praying. katie realized and ran away. i did not and continued to lay on the carpet laughing hysterically. i looked up, and saw everyone else looking down. teacher asked me if i'd like to join the class. i didn't, but i did.

we once entered a speaking competition. we had no idea what to expect. i found some weird duo monologue about overweight women and their plight. we added really great midwestern accents to give it a special flair. when we showed up to the competition, everyone was very serious. the speeches before us were about, and i am not joking-- rape, death and patriotism. our number was called and we could only look at each other with fear and amusement. we finished to a silent and stunned crowd. somehow, we were just a point away from going to the finals.

we went through a season of life that whenever we'd see and old truck we'd do a double take. usually old trucks have old men in them...but sometimes they would have an attractive young man wearing an old baseball hat. distracted driving at its finest.

katie and i always wanted to travel europe together. when we realized we were too poor for that, we settled for a cross country road trip. we taped a construction paper queen named "dawn" to our GPS and laughed like maniacs, highway to highway. we bought matching fake tattoo tankinis from a kmart in montana and had an indoor water park to ourselves. we slid down the slide together, the back of our thighs making squeaky noises to an audience of men and children watching from their respective balconies. we went potty in a biff on the top of a mountian and felt the ice cold air give our bums a thrill. we made fools of ourselves from state to state and i have never had a better time.

when katie got engaged i cried for a week. maybe more. i was scared to loose my fellow dreamer and laugher. the great news is, she is still both those things and more. i can't wait to have her in my new home and feel at home in her friendship. if i am anne she is my dianna. if i am jo she is my laurie. if i am a spicy chip, she's my top the tater.

PTL, sexy glasses

PTL PTL PTL PTL PTL PTL PTL

ptl for needles and drills and big bibs and x-ray machines.

for the first time in many moons i can think straight. i can smile without wincing. i can do what i wanna do (except eat hard candy or chew bubble gum.)

i feel like a million bucks. well, whatever a million minus $1500 is...but i don't even care at this point. it could have been the sleep deprivation, intense consumption of vicodin or general helplessness...but i have never wanted to kiss someone more than my dentist. i owe him my life...$750 and naturally some french kisses. or maybe just a lingering hug. i begin my life all over (great book/new mantra.)

even with these glad tidings, i am nervie. nervie that i will no longer have anything funny to write about. i guess i can always fall back on making fun of my job, body, life

i'm "watching" the oscar's right now. when i was little i wanted to be an actress so i would pretend to make acceptance speeches in the mirror. i got pretty good at them--forced tears, witty jokes, "i told you so's" to the 5th grade boy who called me Pumba. i'm not sure when that dream died...but i think it was sometime during my NHS production of flower's for algernon. specifically backstage when a boy named Alex touched my lower back and told me i looked sexy in glasses.

i have a pair of glasses i am supposed to wear when i drive at night time. i don't wear them because someone told me i looked like a lesbian in them... which is better than being called sexy, i guess...but nevertheless...i don't want to be associated with them (the glasses or terms) anymore. i also lost the glasses for about a year, but that is irregardless.

oprah's bra

i've had a toothache for 7 days. no. it must be much longer than that. when you have a toothache, time stands still.

i don't think ache accurately describes the torment this little piece of dentin is causing me. my knee aches when it rains. my back aches when i sit for too long. this is not an ache. this is terror. i feel like someone is living inside my tooth, thinking of all the mean things he can do to make me break. i've only cried once, but he is winning.

i have layed awake at night, head throbbing, thinking of creative ways to pull my tooth out without too much blood. i wish i could make a time machine and go back to the old west where a swig of whiskey and a prayer were the precursor to a man name hank, pulling the bad boy out with a rusty pair of pliers. i would let him. i would.

to forget my pain, i decided to go running. running is something i hate...nay, that i loathe. what pain could be worse than that of a infected root? running. the heavy breathing. the heavy breasts. the mental boredom. the burning sensation in nose. the inability to keep earbuds in. the public shame. i decided i could no longer withstand tooth death and went for a more participatory torture.

i pulled my stripped socks up to my calves. my black shoes that give the illusion of Velcro were fastened tight. a bright blue pair of 100%  cotton shorts, from some awkward 1980's gym uniform accompanied 3 sports bras and a shirt with a pig on it as i braved the elements. dimly lit streets welcomed my embarrassment as i fumbled with the electronic contraption i gave up on 20 seconds into my 13 minute escape. i found myself hoping someone would try to chase me, but quickly realized my outfit would most likely act as a repellent. each step i took i thought about how horribly out of shape i was. when i felt like crying i made myself imagine myself so fat i had to be sponge bathed by an unlucky relative. that thought got me back home.

my plan worked for 13 minutes. i didn't think about my tooth. i thought a lot about sports bras and death, but not about my tooth. i came back to my room and lifted by shirt up and saw my tummy in the mirror. "better luck next time" i told him. next time? maybe. considering the dentist won't be my friend for another week, this may continue.

i am preparing for that by ordering a sports bra recommended by oprah and that girl from mad men with giant knockers. it looks like a pair of shiny grandma underwear reconstructed to be a middle ages shield... and i am pretty sure i'd rather have this toothache for the rest of my life than anyone ever seeing me wear it.

i like dogs and chili

i got a big tip and a wink today, but could only keep the wink because my apron isn't monogrammed yet. as long as i have a pin with my name on it, i can't keep those dollar bills. i should give the wink to my sister. she can't wink.

i'm serious. deanna can't wink! it's bizarre and unnerving. of all my talents, i might value winking the highest. just a bat of some eyelashes and you can communicate so many things--flirtation, admiration, but mostly creepiness.  what a shame that such an accomplished young lady can't close one eye at a time. luckily for her her sister is the secretary of hugs, kisses and winks, too.

i feel my sister dee doesn't get much screen time here. i have pleanty of stories, i just fear i might tarnish her future in public law. oh well, i've waited long enough and now it's time to dish.

dee is wonderful. she's cute and has more clothes than your average girl...but she mostly gets them by swindling her local consignment shop.

dee has a long history with creepy guys. maybe that's why we relate so well.

the first time i fainted, dee was there to comfort and console me. sarah was in the garden.

dee has been present in many of my most bizarre experiences. i'm glad she has been because when people accuse me of making things up, i can put her on speakerphone and have my name cleared. she would never lie. she's going to be a lawyer.

one time in our mid twenties dee and i cowered in the back of a tent because a girl was mad at us for not eating her chili-dogs. sorry, not sorry. i like dogs and i like chili, but only patrons of foodbourn illnesses go for the combo.

that same night dee would politely ask to put her cold hands on my tummy to warm them up. my above average body temp was the least i could do for the girl who has come to my rescue many times.

one time dee and i spent the entire 5 hour trip from our college to home prank calling people with an Indian accent. we also spent a whole summer working at a school supply factory. I fainted, due to heat, but dee was my number one supporter as i fought for workers rights and left a frightening complaint in the "comments" box. one week later, each station had a fan.

i haven't really told any embarrassing stories yet, but that just means i'm saving them for later. we'll call this an appetizer...or perhaps an h'orderve if you wanna get real fansay like.

have you ever seen anything grosser than a fancy feast commercial? it's like the feline version of a chili dog.