Standin on a hill in my mountain of dreams

The past couple weeks have been really stressful. I'm lost at work (which is about as eloquently as I can explain it). I've been really sick. I have to go back to the doctor next week because upon examining X-rays of my chest on Wednesday, I was told that my lung shape is characteristic of someone who has emphysema or has had asthma their entire childhood (which I haven't); they are very long and narrow, relatively speaking, and I have an odd ribcage configuration. He labeled them, "overly inflated". But fingers crossed that it's just attributable to odd anatomy. Every little decision has been stressing me out. I thought last week I just was stressed about throwing Josh a surprise birthday party, but Friday came and went and the surprise went off without a hitch. Yet still, this anxiety lingers.

Well, my friend Lauren shared the poem below with me today. It was written a couple years ago for her great aunt, who past away last Saturday. It's beautiful and helped ease my stress a bit this morning, so I thought I'd share:

Sometimes we get lucky in this life
And friends come bearing large hearts
And say “Have Some”

Sometimes, we get lucky in this life
And glee emerges from old sorrows
And broken hearts are broken wide open,

And we step out of them
And a voice that was once ours
Wonders, “what took you so long?”

Sometimes we get lucky in this life
And step out of ourselves long enough
To love one another

Sometimes we get lucky in this life
And others are stepping out of themselves
At the same time

And we get lucky and hold out our hands
And for a change, there’s more than air
Between our fingers,

When we’re lucky
We get all this and give it away
We’re lucky if its ours to give

And if children leap to catch it
As though our offerings were fireflies
Small nimbi to be snapped into jars

If we’re lucky in this life
The memory of those nighttime flickers
Lightens later years. The on/off switch of miracle

Sometimes we get luck this life
And from grief mercy flows

Lucky life, Virginia
Oh, lucky, lucky life

Yes, I'm That Kind of Aunt

So my 3 year old nieces had their very first ballet recital and I really can't imagine anything cuter than the pictures you are about to witness...

Before...

During...

After...

Food For Thought

I don't even know how to comment on this article.
I mean, it's devastatingly sad that some people lose their entire life by being locked up in prison for a crime they didn't commit, simply because someone must be blamed. It's fantastic that this man was at least able to salvage what's left of his life, and his name. But just thinking about what torment he's probably gone through already... well stories like this just cause such mixed emotions. So, I guess that's my comment.

Growing Up (Old)

I really must be entering a new phase of life. I actually turned down a Modest Mouse concert on Sunday night, which I had been so excited for in the days prior. I just got tired and decided it would be too much to deal with. When did this happen to me? When did I start turning down concerts of bands that I love because standing until midnight sounded too tiring? I guess it happened when I got a real job. I worry that my ten hour work days seem so long and gruelling that I'm inclined to give up those things that I genuinely love doing because they have become too demanding of time and energy. Or maybe I'm just getting old!

When I was in junior high I used to say that I wanted to start having kids at 23 because I wanted to be a young, in touch parent. The last time I remember making that statement was maybe my freshman year in high school. Ten years seemed so removed from my reality back then. Now I'm 23, and while I feel like an old lady in one respect, I still feel so much like a kid that I can't imagine wanting to have one of my own right now. I mean, after seeing how quickly the past five years have gone by, I wonder, when am I going to feel ready or adult enough to take on that role? Ten years? At this point, I think that I'd want to start trying for kids about when 30 hits. But is that really so? Thirty's probably closer than I think. I still need to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I wonder when I'm going to stop feeling like a kid and starting identifying myself as an adult. Quite honestly, I'm not looking forward to it.

Table Tennis champions of the entertainment industry, UNITE!

I'm partaking in a charity ping pong -eh hem- table tennis tournament tomorrow for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. It's called the "Celebrity Grand Slam Paddle Jam". What - you didn't know I'm a celebrity? No, no - tricked ya! I'm just one of the many 'lay people' competing in this fundraiser for the Research Hospital. It's an industry thing and I am one of the two representatives from my office, by default. There will be 32 two person teams, consisting of publicists, attorneys, executives, and yes, celebrities (I think Sophia Bush is the most exciting one participating, so make what you will of that). I would be, and was, pretty excited for the amazing prizes:

Grand prize: To attend the Bondurant School of High Performance Driving (whatever that is) in Phoenix, Arizona; Southwest Airlines tickets to Phoenix, Arizona; one year of DIRECTV and more.
Runner-up: The runner-up team will win a trip to the Palms Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, including VIP entry for two nightclubs (my partner and I decided we'll intentionally place second when it gets to that point, since this prize is so much better... although free DirectTV for a year sounds pretty sweet too).
Last 8 teams standing: Free round trip JetBlue tickets - wha wha!

So yes, I would be excited, except for the facts that a) I have to wake up at 4:30am to staff tomorrow morning's radio media tour, b) I have to run around town tomorrow to staff an interview at FOX News, c) this tournament goes until 12:30am (probably later), and c) I'M SICK. Yes, it's been abundantly obvious around the office that I am sick, from the fact that everyone has commented on my relentless, deep chested cough all week. However, I wasn't given much of a choice. The long day wouldn't be such a breaker, except for the fact that I am wheezing with every deep breath. (yes, I nearly just had a major flip out here at work but decided to write in my blog to calm myself)

And by the way, Ping pong is exhausting! Josh and I went to a rec center last night to get some paddle practice in, and man was I worked afterwards. But it was great fun; not something I do too often. I needed to get some practice in because my partner is allegedly quite the contender and is taking this very seriously (half in a joking way, half not I think). I surly don't want to disappoint!

Wish me luck!

Plastic Surgery?

Nicole Kidman or Michael Jackson?

I just think there's a striking resemblance here.

Shit Talkers

I must say, shit talkers are my favorite kind of talkers. This world is filled with an overabundance is boring talkers, slow talkers, fast talkers, incessant talkers, full-of-shit talkers, annoying voice/intonation talkers, interrupters, etc. And I recently realized that I don’t hang out with nearly enough shit talkers. This realization came to me when Dave, a friend from college who recently moved here, came to hang out last Friday night. Dave can be a shit talker, but I think it takes a certain environment to bring it out of him. Now, our friend Will, from college, was in town visiting and he can definitely shit talk. Additionally, three of Dave’s friends joined him for our Friday night excursions; all shit talkers.

But here’s the thing: you have to be the right kind of shit talker. You can’t just be an asshole – I mean downright unpleasant – that doesn’t work. If you want to be a good shit talker, you have to establish right away that not only are you prepared to dish out some shit, but you’re prepared to take it too. And also, that this talking shit is purely lighthearted and that you are essentially using it as a tool to become more comfortable with someone. Here’s what I mean. When I arrived at Emily’s house, where the cohorts were awaiting mass –eh hem- juice consumption, I was greeted almost immediately with shit talk. I was fine with this, I felt completely at ease. I even felt safe, somehow. Like whatever I said, no matter how outrageous, would be fine. And conversely, whatever was said to me, no matter how offensive, was fine too. Furthermore, the more witty banter I’m around, the better I am at coming up with my own… witty banter. Sure, that night most of the laughs were not a result of my dishing, but hey, I felt more on-point than ever! (hopefully I just felt that way and that wasn't really my life's moment of conversational glory thus far)

Basically, it’s all in the delivery. That’s where people go wrong. Oh, and you’ve got to be funny. If you’re not funny, forget it… you’re not getting any laughs. No, you’re getting vindictive glares.

So from now on I intend to surround myself with more shit talkers. I guess that’s the moral of my story(?).

Should you choose to accept your mission...

Directions:

1. Go to Google Maps
2. Click "Get Directions"
3. Type "New York" as the starting address
Type "London" as the end address
4. Get the directions
5. Read all the way through the directions if you like.
But if that 'wastes' too much time,
simply begin reading the directions at #20 (to build suspense),
paying close atention to #24

I promise, this exercise is 100% worth it. You won't be disappointed.

(source: Josh)