Where Young Birds Go to Die

That is the title of my newest piece for my independent study. I think I am getting better at naming these things. On another note I have once again proven my theory that text books in 100 and 200 level courses are useless. Thankfully I only spent $3 on my very old edition of my Anthropology text. I never opened it--just went to class and took notes. And miraculously I got a 100. How very not surprising. I am so glad I caught on to this and stopped paying tons of money for brand-spanking-new editions. So what if I need the 10th edition and I got the 3rd? At least my wallet isn't crying nor is my Anthropology grade.

On another note, my wifey has relo'd to Oregon. It is most tragic and we will never recover...at least until she comes home to visit in May. Granted, we are used to only seeing each other over winter, spring, and summer break. She also took our replacement love-fish as she let our true love fish flop out of his bowl and die.

In serious romantic news, I paid for the bulk of the beach house. I thought I had paid for the whole beach house, but apparently there are taxes and such so I still owe $63.75. So minimal but so annoying. now I have to write another check. I hate checks. More like I hate change...or the unfamiliar. Some change I do enjoy so I'm not quite sure what it is I dislike.

I am so excited for this vacation, but I have this cloud hanging over me. I still need to talk to Josh and tell him I can't go to his graduation. I can go to his commissioning which is more important to him but I really wanted to be there for his graduation. We thought it was a Sunday, but it is Monday. I am taking off the following Friday for my graduation and the following week for our vacation. He said he wouldn't mind, but I feel terrible. I just found out last night there might be an issue, and confirmed today. I won't have the leave to take off from work since I only started working there in January. I think I am more upset than he will be because I really wanted to be there :( I also have a final exam that day at 7:30 and I would have to pay for a hotel so by not going I save money and won't stress about getting to my exam on time/being prepared but still. It's really depressing.

Everyone tells me feeling is a sign that I care, but sometimes it really sucks. Oh well. On a brighter note, I have never been happier. I continue to maintain this absurd level of happiness and after almost a year, I am beginning to think it will never end. Josh brought it to my attention we started seeing each other around this time next year. This next Saturday actually will mark the one year point when I kissed him. Yesterday marked the one year point of officially breaking up with my douchebag ex. I am surprised it has been a year and I am pleased I did not even notice when I checked the date yesterday. I am pleased I spent the day with the love of my life and that this past year has been the best of my life. Here is to hoping the rest of my life will be this full of joy.

Waxing Poetic

Not really, just waxing about nothing in particular. About how I will never be famous and that would have bothered me 5 years ago, but it doesn't now. How no one may ever be touched by my poetry of my prose, but that is ok. I am bothered by it, but I won't die a horrible lonely death like Poe of Dickinson--whose works are rather well known now, in case you didn't know.

I won't be written about or photographed, my life will not be splashed on the big screen and this is perfectly acceptable because for the first time in life I am able to admit my fault but celebrate my successes. I can see where I fail without being marked as an individual by it. To live is to be marked, and I want my body to be a map of all the right reasons.

I am in love, I am successful, and in 7 weeks time I will be a college graduate.

And even through all this happiness I manage to write pieces for my delightfully wicked chapbook of deranged mother/child pieces. I am beginning to think I have talent, oh ho.

Works Outs, Independent Study, and web editing

Once upon a time there was a girl with my name and appearance and she considered herself fairly in shape. When all was said and done this statement held up under scrutiny but she was by no means the incredible hulk. Then one days she discovered this blog and her life changed forever--or, less dramatically, for that day and maybe for her work out routines in the future.

I think I'll stop talking in third person now. So I did the suicidal sweat work out and then I did 50 burpees in total (5 sets of 10). I plan on doing at least 100 sit ups (no big deal for me, I have a bad back, so I've been doing sit ups to strengthen my core since I was 9) to have a well rounded work out. Triceps, biceps, shoulders, calves, thighs, and (in a bit) core. My goodness I am going to be hurting tomorrow. I think I'm going to start using this blogs workouts though because I am getting dead tired of my standard go to's. Plus many of her work outs count as cardio instead of just strength training. Awwwwesome!

Also, I have been working on my pieces for my independent study in bursts. I have completed 13 of the necessary 20--well the minimum is 20, I said 20-30 on my proposal but I'm thinking it's going to be more like 20 because I wrote 6 of my pieces before the semester even started (winter break was useful, but I'd hoped to get more writing done) so I've only done 7 during the semester. We are in the 5th week now so that means I'm only averaging 1.4 pieces per week (or approx 3 pieces every 2 weeks). so this means it will be at least another 5 weeks before I have reached my minimum, leaving me 5 weeks to edit and submit my final chapbook to my advisor as well as the contest we found. This is the schedule my advisor and I set up so I am on track, and honestly I think I'd only need 2 weeks to edit and put the chapbook together (without being stressed out about it) so I have 3 weeks of leeway. I guess I'm just worrying about nothing. The collection of thus far completed pieces can be found here.

In other class news, I really need to work on my tourism project this week since the love of my life comes home on weekends and eats all my time ;) I also need to start reading this dang book for my anthropology class. The take home exam on the book isn't due until late April, but I have a feeling I will need a thorough understanding of the book for it and it is not a topic I am at all interested in so it will be slow going with the reading.

In work related news, I rocked house today and solved some serious issues that my coworkers and the company we are working with for the website overhaul could not figure out. I got a lot of praise and I really feel appreciated at my job--a feeling I have never had before. I hope the awesome train keeps on rolling :)

Once upon a time, or, let's talk about marriage.

I have always wanted to get married. There seems to be some strange correlation with Disney movie childhoods and an extreme desire to get married. I know what my dress will look like, what my daddy daughter dance song will be, who will be involved in the planning and who won't, etc, etc. I never seemed to contemplate the man much which resulted in supreme terror. And this flash fiction piece: Velcro.

For the linkaphobic:

Our father is clutching her, his wrinkled claw of a hand clasped about her forearm declaring this young woman as his own offspring. He's about to hand her off to a man he has deemed acceptable and she has deemed marriage material. If it were a real material rather than a metaphor it would be made out of Velcro. Once the husband-to-be is brushed up against, removing him is a noisy, gruesome affair--what was once a whole is ripped in two and so on. He says he loves her and isn't any of the things on her list of men who cannot be saved, dated or married. And that is all the matters according to our mother, our father, our cousins and all those rather irritating bridesmaid friends who overdid everyone's makeup including my own.

Her dress doesn't look quite right. I haven't been able to pinpoint what it is and while she claims it is the perfect dress we both know it is not. The one she really wanted was $2000 over her budget so I guess she is pretending this dress is really that dress. I know my sister.

Her husband-to-be, my brother-in-law-to-be, is perfectly bland in conversation, occupation and, so I imagine, in bed. I picture their honeymoon and his perfectly bland abs in numerous pictures at the beach. I picture his perfectly dull smile situated right next to hers. I picture them fighting and laughing. I picture her pregnant and him working eighty hours a week to afford the child. My sister does not picture these things.

She is walking down the aisle with a withering man, one foot in front of the other. Her neck is sweating because she let those bimbos convince her to wear her hair down in July instead of up. We all know she has beautiful hair, but one would think pragmatism would override a fifteen minute aesthetic that will be ruined by sweat. I'll put it up for her later. I will resist the urge to shave her head or yank out all the hairs one by one.

My sister does not love the man she is walking toward. I can see it in the white knuckles around the bouquet. She is going to be white knuckles for the rest of her life if she does not flee. She needs to drop the flowers, drop the pretense and run for the hills before I kill her with my eyes. Our father is lifting her veil. Our mother is crying. I and her ditsy bridesmaid friends are surrounding her. The priest is talking.

They are kissing. There are some rings. There is a limo.

We arrive to the reception and the rest of her life with a man she does not love but has wed because he is made of marriage material and our father likes him. He is bland enough for our family's conservative overtones. I hate that conservative overtone, but he meshes just fine. He seems to enjoy it but I can never tell. He is so boring his face is a mask of tranquility. And 5 o'clock shadow.

Our father is dancing with her now. They are swaying to some song she picked out that has no real meaning to her because she does not love the man she married nor anyone else--she wed because it is expected of her, not for any real want on her part. Her husband, my now brother-in-law, is behind me, waiting for his turn to dance with her. I can smell his unexceptional cologne. I can sense his heat waving off of him onto my bare shoulders as he passes me, stalking toward my sister.

I can see the Velcro waving like conquering heroes from his fingertips.



I have since given more contemplation to the kind of man I would like to marry and as such am highly relieved I am no longer dating the man I was dating for many, many years. It was hard and terrifying and I cried far more than I should have. Now? I am absurdly happy that I will not be strangled by velco but perhaps will have a chance at the "Once upon a time" and the "Happily ever after" that I grew up believing.

Or maybe I'll have a few cats and half empty bottles of cheap wine. Perhaps even the kind you buy in a box. We shall just have to wait and see ;)