The one where I talk about the Hunger Games, AAA and nothing really at all

Today was fairly productive. I’m assuming, of course, that everyone’s general definition of “productive” includes driving around almost aimlessly in circles enjoying the absurd width of the metropolitan stretch of I-10 throughout Houston, listening to Shakira’s World Cup “Waka Waka” song on an endless loop, eating an insane cinnamon bun for breakfast, then nodding off everytime I tried to read my “Haunted America” book and waking up fitfully because I am having nightmares due to the fact that I keep falling asleep reading ghost stories.

I also made some definite strides in planning my road trip with other best gal pal Miss Mattie Faye. I bought a Rand McNally map of the USA at Barnes and Noble (along with a Literary Crossword puzzle book and an iced green tea…I couldn’t resist, the pull was too strong) and charted the route I will be taking from Austin to my new home along Lake Michigan, complete with each stopping point. Interstates all the way, baby–WoooooooHoooooo!

“FINISH: GREAT LAKES, IL 60088 (and my heart’s true desire)”

Afterwards, I signed up for AAA after my parents’ nagging for about the 87-bajillionth time….Btdubs, I am using leading words like “afterwards,” “then,” and “later,” but I am writing about these events in no particular chronological order….Normally, this would be just another boring detail of my day that I wouldn’t even bother mentioning due to the intensely boring nature of the task (did I mention that signing up for things online is BORINGBORINGGAWDITSSOBORING), except for the fact that this time, when I went to enter my “name” and “title” for what feels like the 10,000th time in my life, things went a little bit differently.

Notice the “Mrs.” and the “Lambuth” part. Those are two things that have remained consistent my whole life, ever since the Internet and electronic sign-up forms became a part of it. It has always been as automatic as breathing to put “Miss Nicole A Alvarado,” but this time, I actually had to actively engage my brain cells. It made me feel tingly all over to see those words on a form.

Tingly in a good way, not in an all-of-my-body-parts-just-fell-asleep kind of way.

AFTER THAT (except not really), I spoke to my husband briefly on Skype….you know what, I’m really getting tired of saying “my husband.” I’m going to need a code name for him, like how John Green calls his wife Katherine “the Yeti” in all his videos….Anyway. We were speaking of adult things like money and whatnot and let me just say that it is really easy to get snowed under by adult responsibilities. It’s kindof frightening. I need to retain my grip on my childlike sense of whimsy!!! *engage panic mode*….it’s okay, power down, Nicole, there’s no need to push the Panic button just yet….REALLY wish I had an internal monologue…

Man. Conductor Nicole really took the crazy train to town with that last paragraph. Let’s start over.

I was talking to Fred and he said this thing and it made me smile and not feel afraid or panicky or even a little bit psycho at all anymore.

Squishy seaman love? Count me down like Chinatown for that 100% of the time.

He always knows just what to say to make me feel better about life and everything in general.

And now, BEHOLD THE ELUSIVE YETI!!

PSYCH.
This is a make-up tutorial made by John’s equally awesome brother, Hank. If you’re going for the Katniss Everdeen/Hunger Games look, this is your go-to guy for all tips and tricks.

**End note: Speaking of Hunger Games, saw this little number at the bookstore today. Anyone else find it ironic that there is a cookbook out for a series called THE HUNGER GAMES? Anyone? I know I’m not the only one, don’t be shy, fellow Nerdfighters.

Home is wherever I’m with you

I wish I had something, anything, profound and moving to write. I’m pre-gaming by myself in my room before I go see my friend’s band, Mugwump, perform at a dive bar three minutes from my house. I’m really excited to see them live (despite the fact that I still contest to the whole “noise” genre of music), but I would be lying if I said my mind wasn’t a bit preoccupied with thoughts of rather a different nature.

Earlier while me and Shoumi were alternately chain-watching episodes of Bob’s Burgers and Supernatural on Netflix, she casually mentioned, “I just can’t believe you’re actually leaving. Like, moving away and all…I’m going to miss you.”

That’s when it REALLY hit me. Everything is about to change so much. It will be the first time I’ve ever lived somewhere that isn’t Texas. I will be thousands and thousands of miles away from everything I’ve ever known. No more just hopping in Johnly when I get homesick and driving a couple of hours for an impromptu visit home. If there’s an emergency, the best I can do is catch a 3-hour flight out of the busiest airport in the United States (O’Hare) and pray that I make it in time. Skype is about to become my best friend…

The gravity of this realization hit me like a ton of bricks and before I knew it, I was crying (which is a shame because I actually took the time to kohl up my eyes today). Shoumi noticed and gave me a reassuring pat on the back, lovingly telling me she looks forward to visiting me as I move around the United States over the next 5-6 years. And then she brought everything full circle for me with this little gem:

“Plus, I mean, you’ll be with Fred, and he makes you really really ridiculously happy. I mean, I know that you enjoy hanging out here and this is what you know, but I’ve never seen you as happy as you are even when you’re just talking to him on Skype. It’ll be okay. We’ll have our time–this is your time with him now.”

I may have ad-libbed a few of those things, but the message is the same and she is right — I am fine now, living my carefree early-20s lifestyle in the hippest city in the South, but at the end of the day, when I go home and pass out in bed, it is with this vaguely hollow feeling. Nothing ever feels so complete as when I’m with him. I don’t feel as complete as when I’m with him. There are wonderful substitutions for me here and my parents, my brother and sister, the home(s) I’ve grown up in, all my friends–Texas is a wonderful place and I will miss it dearly. 

But Fred is my family now. Fred is my home. And I will never be as happy as I am when I’m anywhere near him. 

Ca$h monayz

The way a person spends their money is very telling.

My husband likes to spend his extra cash on food, which he promptly disposes of so quickly that it’s often hard to tell if he actually enjoyed the meal or not. It’s astonishing, really–he moves at a glacial pace until we sit down at the dinner table and then it’s like he’s just been storing all of his energy up throughout the day for this one moment: The Feeding.

I got her this honey pot for her birthday (Le Creuset), but it’s way nice so instead of ruining it with sticky honey, she puts sugar packets in it instead.

My best friend Shoumi spends her money on really nice cooking supplies. She’ll splurge on a Dutch oven by Le Creuset or a nice set of Wusthoff knives. Oh, or nice hair stuff. Actually, that’s my other best friend, Brooke…I know it sounds like I throw that term around, but I mean it. They are literally 2 of my only good girl friends. There are a few others, but I can see this getting into a heated discussion with my other girl friends quite quickly so I’m going to stop now. YOU ARE ALL EQUALLY IMPORTANT TO ME….now I just sound like a conceited @$$hat.

My sister is a mix of myself and my husband, splitting her expendable income between food and clothing. She is a college student; she is “finding herself” and establishing an identity as well as going out with her friends, so this is all pretty textbook.

I had to put this picture because she’s way prettier than me and I won’t stand for it, not on this blog. She may get reality, but I will win…virtual…reality…

I undoubtedly spend my pocket money on books and clothes–almost all of the USED variety. I love knowing that my possessions had previous owners. Their stories don’t begin with me and they certainly won’t end there. These things will go on long after I cease doing so. Unless we all perish in a tragic house fire, in which case that will pretty much even the playing field. My biggest weakness is perhaps cheap wine and Lululemon athletic clothes. It’s ironic–I love athletic clothes, but I am quite possibly the least athletic person I know. You know what? I said ironic, but I think the word “depressing” is more fitting here.

A list of the books I’ve acquired recently:

• Haunted America – a collection of short stories by many acclaimed American authors
• Literary New York – an historical background on all the neighborhoods of New York City
• World’s Great Letters – I love correspondence so this is pretty self-explanatory
• Social and Political Philosophy – for when I feel guilty about all the ghost stories and fluff I’ve been reading. At night. Before bed. Which is possibly the worst time ever to read ghost stories if you are a 23-year-old female with a wildly overactive imagination and nerves that are pretty much constantly on end anyway.
• French Cooking – it’s no Julia Childs cookbook but the pictures are pretty and the recipes are simple…deceptively simple, I’m sure.
•  A book (en Espanol) of short stories by some Spanish author I can’t remember at present….it was whimsically and delightfully bound. And 25 cents. I caved.

This realization came about over a late-night discussion with Shoumi about materialism in general. As it stands, I am about to become a part of the American dream by moving into my first home with my husband, a delightful 2-bedroom/1.5-bath two-story townhouse in the great state of Illinois, just off Lake Michigan. Also, I am about to turn 24 years old, a fact that has kinda fallen into neglect in the midst of all the moving hype. Family members keep trying to get me to tell them what we want for the house, but here’s the thing: me and Fred don’t need much. We never have. Even when we were both destitute and scrimping together every penny for gas or milk, the bare necessities were enough because at the end of the day, we always had each other. We both know that where there’s a will, there’s a way. Also, all of our possessions–and I mean, ALL–fit in my bedroom right now. So I have no idea how we are going to fill a home with things.

Then there is the whole idea of how I don’t really like stuff. I mean, I love the things that I have–love them. I’m just very very particular about the accumulation of more things. I’m a nomadic person at heart and am about to become one in reality as well. The next couple of years will be filled with a constantly rotating home base, which is fine by me because I get restless after having been in the same place for 13-15 months. I always unpack with the mindset of “How can I arrange these things in a way that will make them easiest to pack up again when I move later?” That may sound crazy, but I really don’t think it is. Shoumi had a really hard time understanding my POV — “I’m sorry, I know I keep coming back to this, I just don’t think I’m understanding–you…don’t….like….things? What??” — but effectively I was able to explain it with, “I’m really forgetful and clumsy, so I just stopped getting attached to things when I was like 14 because I lose or break everything.” That’s a lazy way to define my things, I know, so I don’t need a lecture about how your stuff is a reflection of your life.

I feel that my lack of stuff is as effective a reflection as the things that I do own and cherish. Besides, at the end of the day, stuff is replaceable. People and experiences are not.

I really feel like Rusted Root has a monopoly on road trip playlists (see “On My Way”)

I got some stitches, I got some stitches, I got some stitches, heyheyheyHEY! (**NOTE TO THE READER: When I wrote that, I sang it in my head to the tune of Buckwheat’s song from the Lil’ Rascals, “I Got a Dollar.” If you haven’t seen Lil’ Rascals, we’re probably not friends so you’re probably not even reading this anyway)

FOUR stitches, to be exact. I’d take a picture of it because it’s awesome but it’s covered right now per the doctor’s “wound care instructions”…Can I just say something? How is it that we live in a world where we are like thisclose to creating clones of humans and artificial intelligence, YET we still choose to sew people together with a needle and thread in the same manner that we would correct a hem or darn a sock? Not that it isn’t effective, I guess I just figured if we can create nanobots the size of the period at the end of this sentence that can like fight crime and raise children (metaphorically speaking), certainly we would’ve figured out a more high-tech way to fix people up, so to speak.

It was just for a skin biopsy, anyway. I wish I could say I got into some glorious knife-fight protecting my friends in the midst of a turf war at a sketch but reputable bar on the East Side of Austin….actually, yeah, let’s just go with that. That’s what happened. And that is why I have four stitches on my upper left thigh.

I HAD AN ADVENTURE TODAY! Since quitting my job, I have found myself with an abundance of free time on my hands that I am quite frankly running out of activities to fill it with. Soooo, knowing my current predicament, my superfriend Jamie (aka Cousin of the Sornsons, of WAIS fame) enlisted me to go on a lil day trip with her to San Antonio to pick up a new car (well, new to her; used for all legal intents and purposes). Here were some highlights of the trip:

• Setting off to blaze the trail, I caught sight of these little fellas on a lawn at the end of the road. Jamie flipped out, exclaiming that she’d heard tell of these famed wild parakeets on the Eastside but never seen them. Well, there they were. Almost didn’t catch them at first since they were the exact same color as the grass. I took it as a good omen–our trip was blessed by these little green birds. 
• Lunch at Thai Dee restaurant in San Antonio. Their Thai iced tea and tofu soup with coconut milk was seriously seriously delicious. Also, our waiter was in a crazy good mood cuz it was his last day and he was moving to California and he was just tellin everyone. His enthusiasm was infectious (the good kind of infectious).
• Saw a sign for a place called “El Monton Motor Hotel” and quickly deduced where the word “motel” came from…that was clearly an exciting lightbulb moment for the both of us.
• Driving a car with a radio and a consistently working A/C. Jamie drove her car back to Austin and I tailed her in her new one. It has been a really long time since I’ve rocked out to anything whatsoever in a car–it felt good.

If you don’t know what this is, crack a book and then talk to me.

Right now I’m lying on my bed in my “I’m-dying” pose, which involves spreading myself out like a starfish and rolling around moaning and pretending to cry then stopping when I realize no one is here to make me feel better. My head is literally splitting open. I feel like Zeus when he gave birth to Athena (from his head).

Well I’m probably going to go moan some more, then watch Psych until the antihistamines kick in, then talk to my husband on Skype…that should be a really fun conversation for him.

The power of positive waking-up stuff

I was informed recently (aka last night) that this blog is the main source for many people about information on the everyday goings-on of my life….goings-on. That sounds wrong. Then again, culs-de-sac sounds wrong too but apparently that’s right, or whatever…

IT IS T-minus 3 weeks(ish) and counting until The Big Move and also my solo 1,200-mile cross-country road trip to Great Lakes, IL. I’ve been telling people I’m moving to Chicago because a) everyone knows where Chicago is; b) Chicago is definitely in the Top 5 Coolest Cities in America; c) whenever I say I’m moving to Great Lakes people (including myself) are generally confused because it sounds like I’m moving INto the Lakes. Which, I can assure you, I am not. It may sound vague, but I’m pretty sure Great Lakes is like the name of the actual town. And when I say “pretty sure,” I mean, I actually have no clue. I just know that’s what you write on the envelope when you send mail there and that’s generally been my rule of thumb for verifying the validity of a location my whole life.

In the meantime, I am gearing up my life in preps for this move. While I technically have military assistance (meaning some big tough sailors are gonna come to my house and pack all my books and whatnot for me), I like to pack my own things so I know where everything is when the unpacking time comes. That, and I’m embarrassed for the sailors to see the mess I’ve managed to make out of my room. Also, there’s really no need for them to see my stuffed animal collection…no need.

I need to plan a little trip across Texas to see all my favorite family and friends before I leave for goodsies….sad face. I want to spend about a week in H-town with my family and a little time in San Antonio with my other family and friends.

This weekend flew by; it’s amazing how quickly the time passes when you’re enjoying yourself. After spending Friday evening walking around downtown Austin getting progressively sicker and finally hightailing it back to the Badgerdome to watch back-to-back episodes of one of my all-time favorite shows, Psych, the weekend could only get better. Saturday was spent discovering the local-library-sponsored bookstore Recycled Reads (shameless plug: the library isn’t really allowed to do any sort of marketing for itself since it’s a nonprofit endeavor but seriously–every hardcover book is $2, every softcover $1 and they have records in good condition for 50 cents. I personally bought a book of Americana-themed ghost stories, a French cookbook and a small paperback on Social and Political Philosophy for a grand total of $4. You should’ve seen the haul Shoumi got…) and dodging this crazy old lady in a leather vest who owned a thrift store that looked more like an episode of Hoarders than it did any sort of commercial location.

Whenever I see a leather vest, I think of this Demetri Martin bit about leather sleeves

We later went to get fancy burgers at this place called Hopdoddy, then returned to Shoumi’s place for a little girl talk and some Casper (yes, I am referring to the Casper of the amicable specter variety). That was a very perturbing evening for us, though. The red meat really upset Shoumi’s stomach and I had my very first encounter with sleep paralysis (twice in one evening), which–needless to say–is hands-down one of the most terrifying things I have ever experienced in my whole entire life.

“Can I keep you?” Absolutely, little Devon Sawa. Absolutely you can keep me forever.

What was SUPPOSED to be a lazy Sunday actually turned out to be quite extravagant. Had brunch with a bunch of new faces (and a few familiar ones) at the Highball (it is just as classy as it sounds), a retro-style lounge and bowling alley that had a live jazz band playing. I was as mesmerized by the trombone player who used one of those cool filters to make the trombone sound all tinny and old as I was by the white chocolate strawberry pancakes on the plate set before me. From there, we walked up and down the Drag until the early summer Texas heat bullied us back into the comforts of Shoumi’s air-conditioned apartment, where we lazed around doing a lot of nothing before going to another friend’s house to watch this amazing indie flick, Another Earth, whilst snacking on some air-popped popcorn and refreshing key lime pie.

So basically, I spent this entire weekend binge-eating (not drinking much–I’m really not much of a drinker and I didn’t wanna push my limits) and woke up feeling like a beached whale. I never let myself get too far out of control when it comes to my personal health, so with the renewed energy and vigor bestowed upon me by my attempts to sync my schedule with my husband’s so we can get more out of our limited facetime on Skype (instead of going to sleep at 4 a.m. and waking up around noon, I’ve been falling asleep by 11 p.m. and waking up between 5-6 a.m. It was super rough at first, but by the time the sun rises, I basically feel like I can do anything), I signed up for a one-month membership to 24-Hour Fitness.

One half-hearted attempt at a workout later and I realized that if I can just get my rear, I really do enjoy working out. There are so many excuses we make for ourselves, but if I can just put the stupid trainers on, lug my big butt to the gym and push through that 10-15 minute period at the beginning of the workout where you hate everything, I’ve found that the overall effect is very rewarding. Sure, you may sweat and hate life and snap at everyone who approaches you during the workout (or maybe I’m the only person who turns into a Gremlin when she works outs), but I know afterwards I’m always riding high for a couple of hours. Like, I walk out to my car and go, “What else can I do today that is productive?”

It’s 11:37 a.m. We’ll see how long that lasts.

OH YEAH! I got a new ukulele. It really is a good way for me to unwind and pass the time and I really missed playing (RIP Delilah).

Me & Sebastian = BFFEaeaeae

Why I Did What I Did The Way That I Did It

Well hello stranger. Long time no see. Miss me much? Of course you did.

Let’s get down to brass talks–I got a lotta ‘splainin’ to do. Since my last entry, my life got flipped-turned-upside-down, Fresh Prince style. Here’s a brief recap since we all know how much I like lists and bullet points:

Who says a courthouse marriage can’t be romantic?

• I got married–whooooooo.
• I quit my job.
• Sometime before May 30, I will be driving 1,150 miles to Chicago (or rather, Great Lakes, IL) to live on-base with my sailor hubby for the next year while he is in technical school.

Sorry to drop this knowledge on you guys all at once (imagine how my parents felt–I know, trust me, World’s Worst Daughter over here, the guilt ate me alive for months). I’ve found that the Band-Aid method is usually the best approach in dealing with heavy issues: put it all out there, then handle the tidal wave of inquiries bound to stem from such casual confessions of undeniable import.

I will not contest that I didn’t exactly go about ANY of this in an even remotely orthodox way. In all honesty, though, I’ve never really been an orthodox kind-of person when it comes to anything. I regret nothing!! Except for hurting my parents. That’s the only thing I regret.

“I canNOT overemphasize how LITTLE we thought about this.” ~Andy Dwyer, the most integral player in the Pawnee Parks and Recreation department (and that fact is not debatable)

I’m waiting to hear more about his orders for A-school so I’ll know when he has enough leave time for us to have a wedding reception, of sorts. Sure, I used to run around in my bride Halloween costume on the regular as a child (a word to all the mothers out there: take a page out of my mammasita’s book and encourage your child’s weird whims, it builds character), but I never really found any pleasure in fantasizing about my “dream wedding.” If anything, every time I was presented with the idea and began to consider it with any real conviction, a mild wave of panic would wash over me and I’d have to quickly think about something else. I’m sorry, but planning a wedding sounds like the absolute opposite of fun to me.

That being said, I do want to be able to celebrate this joyous occasion with all my favorite peeps and loved family members. Bring on the wedding gown fittings and ring sizing and….whoa, ok, see, there’s that familiar panick-y feeling. Quick, must think of something immature….

Aaaahhh, that’s better.

Are you the kind of person who sees miracles or are there no coincidences?

Let me holla at choosguyz for a hot minute.

So I’m in the middle of a complete personal and professional transformation and one of the hardest parts of said metamorphosis is the personal branding part. What makes me unique? What sets me apart? We can’t all be unique, then we’d all be the same, really and we’re right back to where we started. Also, what if I brand myself wrong at the onset and am forever labelled as something I live to regret?! So much pressure that no one is putting on me but myself. It’s exasperating. I’m the person that will wither away and die in the process before ever living to see the results.

I don’t know what my life is on the horizon of, but it’s something big, I can tell you. I’m pretty sure I’m in the middle of some sort of epiphany so I’m riding this manic high until I break on through to the other side. I’ve been brainstorming on notepads like crazy, skipping around from page to page adding arbitrary headlines and then scribbling notes wherever I damn well please in no particular fashion all over the pad. Here are some excellent examples of things I’ve brainstormed for my tagline (this should give you a pretty accurate picture of how well this whole process is going):

Wanna be heard? You got the story; I got the words…..that doesn’t even make sense.

Quirk Works: Try saying that five times fast!.…ok well I just tried and you can’t. I already hate it. On to the next one, o-on to the next one…

That’s about as far as I got before I decided to write this super-informative update on my life. Because I know you all are just on the edge of your seats wondering what’s going on with my life. All 2 of you. God bless you. And America. And the people everywhere who are starving. And every child ever (except for the mean ones, you don’t have to bless them if you don’t want to. I won’t judge).

My current quarter-life crisis situation reminds me a lot of this time in middle school when I went camping along the Frio River with my best friend Ashley Graf and her family. Ashley was (and probably still is) fearless, just like she was (and probably still is) way too cool to be hanging out with me, something that thrilled and perplexed me for most of my childhood. When we got to the camping grounds, she immediately took my hand and we struck out on our own–away from the campsite, away from parents, away from everything.

After just a short bit of hiking, we came across this little wooden fence along a craggy mini-cliff overlooking the river that was about 6″ wide and 3″ tall. It was completely pointless. Not only was it too small and inconspicuous to really make any sort of a difference, but it was old and rickety and if someone were to have come hurtling along that trail and rolling in that direction the most it would have done was splinter the falling party right good before they hit the water, which really wasn’t all that far down. In fact, there were a few other kids there (a bit older than us, so now I was double out of my cool-league) who were doing just that–standing atop the railing for a split second before disappearing into the sky below.

At least, that’s what it looked like from my vantage point. Ashley grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the railing, me resisting the entire time (let me just mention that I was/am the biggest scaredy-cat in the world possibly the solar system. As a kid, I didn’t like the butterfly museum because they were just everywhere and they made me antsy….yep. As a kid.). Watching her arc gracefully over the wood and splash into the water below like a freaking Olympic diver gave me a boost of confidence I ordinarily never would have had if left to my own devices.

I didn’t pray or scream or anything. I used the trusty Band-Aid rip-off approach–before I had time to doubt what I was doing, I catapulted myself off the rotting wooden plank and Jesus-dived into the freezing water below. I had about a split-second as I stood at the top of that little cliff and poised myself to dive, but the adrenaline of what I was about to do took over and once my feet left the earth, that was it–I was fearless. I was free. In that moment, I was transcendent. It was a perfect moment. I didn’t have a care in the world–until I hit that frio water. They do not joke around in Texas when they name their geographic locations (don’t call me on that, please).

Sure, once I inhaled a lungful of that cold river water and my body temperature plummeted about 20 degrees in half a second, the gravity of what I had just done caught up to me PDQ (literally) and I was a total mess. What had seemed like an awesome idea 3 seconds ago suddenly felt like the biggest mistake I had ever made in my whole entire life. HOWEVER–I’m still alive now to tell the tale. And it really isn’t even a tale. It was a seemingly insignificant moment suspended in time and my memory, mine alone, because it really wasn’t noteworthy for anyone but me. I’m a control FREAK and in that one moment as I flew through the air, suspended between the heavens and the earth–I was gloriously, deliciously FREE. 

Now, I don’t believe in fate or any of that destiny mumbo-jumbo, but I do believe that things happen for a reason. You can either piss and moan about the current state of things and waste a lot of time and energy feeling sorry for yourself, or you can get back up on that high horse and go to bed each night knowing that despite the fact that your tummy is hungry and yelling at you, you put forth a good day’s efforts.

The good, the bad, all of it — you bring it upon yourself. Your destiny or whatever is yours for the making, and yours alone. There is no such thing as luck, fate, not even karma (something I like to shallowly fool myself into believing to keep me from being extra-douchey in my everyday life).

I know it’s cheesy to quote a movie, let alone an M. Night Shyamalan flick, but there was a lot of depth to Signs that got overlooked by the whole aliens-invading-earth plotline. This monologue by Mel Gibson’s character resonated within me so violently when I saw it that i still find myself thinking about it with wonder almost a decade later.

Shit just got real.

There is no real point to this post except I’ve had one thing running through my mind for the past 48 hours or so and it is this one unifying theme: 

Sometimes you just gotta close your eyes, trust that everything is going to be alright and jump.

 

Guess where I got this quote and I’ll give you…props

2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 42 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

2012: Same song, different verse

Now that Christmas is over and 2011 is winding quietly down, I’ve done quite a bit of reflecting over the past few days I’ve been home for the holidays (being cooped up in my childhood home has a funny way of bringing all the crazy up to the cream of the crop).

I eagerly await and warmly embrace 2012. I am one year older and one year wiser. This year, more than almost any other, has put me through the rigors. I started losing things right around my horrendous 23rd birthday and they just kept slipping through my fingers like the sand in an hourglass. I spent so many hours of 2011 just weeping and ruing the things I knew I had lost.

2012 will not be the same. I am a unique, creative person. I have so many ideas that sometimes it’s hard to pin them down before they fly away again, but I resolve to try and do so to as many errant thoughts as possible. I am not getting any younger (though I still celebrate and recognize my youth). There are so many incredible things I know I have yet to accomplish and what better start than a new year to wipe the slate clean again and start over, fresh and ready for anything.

This is pretty much what I envisioned when I read this as well.

PLUS!
It’s not like 2011 was all bad. Like I mentioned before, I finally found that other half of my weird humanoid soul that Aristophanes was talking about in Plato’s Symposium and what could make a person luckier than finding true love? There’s got to be a reason half the books and songs and art in the world is focused on that one general idea and everything that comes with it.

2011 opened up my eyes to opportunities I may have been too scared to consider before. It was an age of risks for me. One after the other, they trickled through me until I found I was no longer walking on eggshells, but running with reckless abandon upon them. There is something incomparably liberating about feeling like you have nothing left to lose. You try harder. You appreciate things more. You find beauty where before you may not have seen any. And you definitely, definitely become more creative (it’s a shame I didn’t take a picture of my failed attempt at making a magazine rack out of a coat hanger…).

I also rediscovered my passions. I will admit that I did spend a fair amount of time wallowing in self-pity, but once I got past that, I found I had a lot of time to focus on me and the things that really made me happy. I am delighted to report that all those things that used to awaken a spark of ingenuity in me have remained in tact. Writing, journalism, exploration, innovation, seeking out the new, experiencing the old, giving past the point of comfort — all the things that have always made my cogs turn, my wheels run well-oiled like a little efficiency machine, still keep me up and running. With the added bonus of a new P-I-C, regardless of where in the world or sea or sky he may be.

You hear that, 2012? You best bring it. I mean, bring all you’ve got. And then some. And your friends. And your friends’ moms. And while you’re at it, you may as well hide yo’ kids and yo’ wife cuz I’ma be kickin’ everyone’s @$$ up in this piece this year.