Monday, June 29, 2009


"Our mistakes have brought us to grace." - Julia Baggott

Today's horoscope said I would receive a great gift. Everywhere I've looked, I have found inspiration. From quotes about life, to writing that moves me to explore, to listening to others stories, to indulging my curiousity - there are lessons to be learned in it all. A reminder that gifts are not always material.

More moments

1. It gets dark early now. A constant companion of emptiness. Every night I crawl into bed and try to not let it wash over me. The feeling and urge to be loved. To be held. To be noticed. But I am powerless. It can take my breath away. But it’s comforting. I am still here. I can still feel. And it hurts. I close my eyes on another day with a plea that it won't last. Oh, how I wish you would call.

2. This time things progress at a normal pace, instead of awkward and rushed like before. But there’s still no romance. I enjoy being around him. I feel like I can be myself, or at least that’s the Hallmark answer I’m trying to convince my head of. I don’t have to be someone I’m not. I say dumb things and don’t care. I watch him eat the dinner I made, and I smile. He laughs and asks what? Afterwards, we lie there and talk. Like us, the conversation is stripped and bare. I can hear the traffic outside. He finally looks at me. I want to tell him that he should leave, but I don’t because he already knows. After he leaves the room smells of longing and peaches.

3. We both wake up foggy and hungover. I ask for some water and you get up to get me some. You take a sip before handing me the glass. You lay back down in the bed with me, and put your head on my belly. We sit there quietly for a few minutes. I run my fingers through your hair. You look up and tell me that I am so pretty. In that one moment, everything that was once broken in my life is fixed. I don’t tell you that this is what I am thinking about when you ask me seven months later. In fact, I never answer your question instead I just smile. I realize I have never been happier. I immediately fear losing that feeling forever. “Just Like Heaven” is playing on the car radio. Now, I wish I had told you what I was really thinking.

4. We stumble home from another raucous night out. We turn the key to the apartment and walk in. I’m giggling about nothing in particular. We don’t turn on the lights. We just sit in the kitchen and eat ice cream. Suddenly, you begin pouring out your emotions to me. You’re crying. I want to rush to you, and hold you to tell you everything will be okay. Like you have done for me so many times before. The lights from outside are reflecting off the pool causing big waves of pale blue light to dance across the ceiling. You have never looked more beautiful, or more real. I go to and wrap my arms around you. Cradle your face in my hands. You go tense. I know this has made you feel weak. You will never let me see you weak. You will never let me in. You pull away from me and angrily swipe your tears away, and tell me you’re being stupid. You go fall asleep on the couch. I have never felt more apart from you.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009


Just little moments that run through my head.

1. I am on the back of your motorcycle. I don’t have a helmet on, and all I can think is my mom will kill me if she finds out. I don’t remember what kind of motorcycle it was, but knowing you it was probably the top of the line. The bike is loud. I can feel the rumble between us. I’m holding on for dear life. Exhilarated. Scared. It’s a warm spring night. As we ride, the wind blows my hair into my face. It stings my eyes, but I don’t want to let go of you to fix it. We pull up to a stoplight and you grab my hand and kiss it very gently. I bury my face in your back so you can’t see the goofy smile you’ve spread across my face. It feels like a movie. Later when I go to hop off your bike the exhaust pipe bumps against my leg. It leaves a nasty burn. You do nothing to help ease the pain. Roll credits.

2. There's something strange about waking up with another person in your bed. Hogging what should be your side. Soft morning snores punctuating the silence. There's something protective in the way a strong arm flops over, and pulls you towards them. So close that you can feel the warmth of their breath on your neck. Two bodies sharing an embrace, faced away from the world outside. Each wanting different things. Each willing to give up a piece of themselves to get it. It’s palpable. It surrounds me. I have no choice but to surrender to it.

3. Whiskey makes me think of you. I love the smell, the taste, the way it sits warmly in my belly. It always reminds me of home. The home you and I made. When I hear ice cubes clinking on the side of a glass, I am reminded of our laughter. Those were the fun times. I have switched brands of whiskey.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Just like like Ah-nold said, I'll be back.

Dear Anonymous,

Often when someone signs a comment “anonymous” there’s a reason. Usually, they want to tell you something bad like “hey, your feet stink and you’ve had spinach in your teeth for the last hour.” Rarely, is it good. You’ve proven the exception.

Words are powerful. Words can heal. I thank you for yours because you have inspired me to start writing again.

So Anonymous, keep checking in. And keep inspiring those around you. Those that need it truly thank you.


Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Spitting in the Wind

The other day I was busied and hurried trying to catch a train to the Loop in order to run an errand over lunch. (The Loop is only .5 miles [or less!] from my work but I take the train because? Am lazy!) I was just past the turnstile, when a lady turned to ask me if this was the train that was headed towards the Loop.

Normally, I hate strangers, but this day I was feeling helpful and generally not filled with disdain for my fellow man. (I’ve gone soft!) So I looked up and was about to tell her that yes she was headed in the right direction, but before I could get out that yes a giant ball of spit flew from my mouth.

This spittle took such an exaggerated arch on its way to her forearm that there was plenty of time for our eyes to go from each other to the flying spitwad back to each other.

I was mortified. How do you recover from that?

I didn’t even bother to finish my answer. I didn’t even apologize! Instead, I just ran.

And honestly, I really hope she finally found her way to the Loop, but I will never know. And that’s because I turned on my heels, and headed for the train going the opposite direction and rode it for two stops just to make sure I could put ENOUGH space between me and the embarrassment.

Thursday, May 31, 2007


The other day I was leaving work and walking towards to the bus stop when I happened to look up at the sky peaking out between the skyscrapers. It was slightly after six, the weather was perfect and the sky was starting to take on that wonderfully delicious color of dusk. Shades of crimsons, pinks and oranges were being spread across the sky by the setting sun.

I wished I had a camera because I have a thing for sunsets. A life lesson my mother taught me was to always enjoy sunsets because you never know which one will be your last. One thing Oklahoma beats Chicago hands down in is sunsets. In Oklahoma, without buildings blocking your view of the horizon, sunsets set the entire sky on fire. (Too bad for Oklahoma, it’s also home to Republicans.)

I smiled. I had one of those moments that almost make your heart explode with a flood of emotions. Mix of joy, sadness, regret, love but mostly a sense of true happiness for the first time in a long time.

Then I suddenly remembered I had my sunglasses on. I took them off, and the sky returned to a muted gray with the only slightest hints of pink. I thought to myself, hmm I must have on some rose-tinted glasses.

I put them back on and enjoyed the view.

Life can be so poetic sometimes.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Hey look! It's an Adult!

I like to say that I am running at about 48% Responsible Adult, meaning I almost there, but not quite. The number comes from the fact that although I am 28 years old I still don’t act like an adult.

For example:

  • I don’t have a regular laundry schedule
  • I still don’t like broccoli.
  • I put way too much on my credit cards each month.
  • I eat too much candy.
  • Owning a house might be a possibility for me sometime in the year 2042.
  • I’m over involved in the lives of people on reality TV shows.
  • I don’t remember other people’s birthdays, but expect everyone to remember mine.
  • I don’t have a 401k, nor do I have any clue what a Roth IRA is.
  • According to the amount of money in my savings account, I’m saving for the future purchases of 4 Snickers bars and an Us Weekly.
  • There’s no toilet paper on the roll.

And the list could go on and on. I’m not very happy about being only a 48% Responsible Adult. And trust me, I have all these big plans to eventually become a 100% Responsible Adult, but the current 48% means that I am clearly in no rush, or that I even know what a Responsible Adult is—and oh, look America’s Next Top Model is on.

So now each day I have decided to try to do something new that will boost my Responsible Adult-ness. In fact today, while at the Coke machine I had this brilliant internal dialogue:

“Oh no, I can’t get my third Coke for the day, people will think I am weird. Well, weirder than they already think I am. Oooh, I know I’ll get a V8. Because that’s what an adult would do.”

So I got my V8, and gloated all the way back to my desk thinking to myself:

“Look at me, I am so healthy and SUCH an adult. Next thing you know I will be drinking sparkling water.”

And you know what? V8 tastes awful.

Monday, April 30, 2007

Reunited, and it feels so good.

Inspired (okay, damn near ripped off) by this entry over at Bacon Grease

Dearest Chicago,

I know it’s not cool to be the first to say this, but I think I love you. Really! I want to have your little Chicagoland babies.

Chicago? Will you be my Lovah.

Love you always,


Guess what? I love this city. I'm pretty sure Chicago feels the same way. And I can't stop gushing about it to everyone.

We’re in that amazing phase where you’re falling in love, but you don’t want to admit it to yourself because you are afraid you’ll jinx it. The phase where you spend hours just looking at public transportation maps and just marvel: I can get anywhere I want to and never hop in a car.

I’m not one to brag but my Lovah put a CVS across the street from me. And a little dive bar at the end of the block. And I can frequent both establishments in my pajamas if I so choose. If I want a Chicago-style hot dog I can get an AUTHENTIC one—at almost any hour of the night. There are the 4 a.m. Thai take-out places. The Cuban bistro. The quaint Ethiopian restaurant which serves its beer in glasses slightly larger than Dixie cups. And since 6 long months of miserable cold weather is beginning to transition over to lazy warm afternoons, the whole of Chicago has decided to leave their cramped apartments to just be outside. There are people everywhere. It’s like Chicago has up and thrown a party for me.

But what I love most about Chicago and our renewed love, I haven’t felt this pressure to live up to an unattainable perfection—ahem, I’m looking at you, Dallas. You drift in an anonymous sea of strangers who are all at the same time exactly like you and nothing like you. Every day on the bus a cacophony of languages ring out. (Although some are just a tad too loud on the cell phones behind me, but don’t get me started.)

And don’t get me wrong, Chicago is not without its flaws. Alley noise at 3 a.m. Silent farters on the bus. Overzealous horn honkers. Parallel parking. Meanie cashiers. And that distinctive smell of urine, day old feces, Old Spice and vomit that graces the deep bowels below the city in the subway. (Which to be honest this is the first relationship where I have plunged headfirst into the bowels of anything, so who’s to say this isn’t typical of all my loves.)

I’m also not implying that I'm without my faults. Some days I am just not in the mood to deal with you, Ranting Homeless Man. And some days I long for some man to hold open the door for me again. (STILL a feminist! Don’t get any ideas!) But we put up with each because it’s TA-WU WUV.

Chicago offers me a few million things to do every day. Even if all I do is watch a marathon of America’s Next Top Model, I really just can’t get enough of this city. The sights, the sounds, the people and the pace of it all. I love just getting caught up in it. And yes, the cashier at CVS may never remember my name, but that's its charm. The kind of anonymity that makes me feel like I can be somebody.

Oh Chicago, let’s run off to somewhere exotic, and get married. (But come right back of course.)