Landlocked Blues.

You know you're up too late when you can hear your Dad getting up for work....



Mark Twain once said, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco."

That one's for you, Nick Sidari.

But really weather...what's going on?
Since when does Spring Break = doom n' gloom.
Would it kill you to send a little sun this way? That's all I'm asking.

Sure, we say we "love" the rain, but when is that ever true?
We love it when we're inside, when our car is dirty, when we don't have anywhere to be in a hurry...
Other than that, it's kind of a downer. Something we enjoy and definitely need on occasion, but are also quite happy to see leave.

I think that's how life is at times too.
We need that rain. We need that reality.
We need those dirty water spots on our windshield.
It's cleansing. It's refreshing. And eventually it passes.

It's with that passing that we can finally see. The air is fresher, the sky is clearer...and beyond the dark clouds, there's a rainbow.
And life is beautiful again.

Embrace the storm.

Mr. Blue

Other Worlds Theory.

I think I saw this on an episode of "So Weird" once... (Remember that show? Phi, or Phoe or whatever her name was, and that guy from Brink! Team Pup N' Suds! Soul Skaters. Oh Fritz.)
Anyway...my point is...
We are faced with decisions everyday, and it's how we confront those choices that determine the direction of our lives, yes?

But what happens to the other choices? Where do they go? Let's say you answered "no," then what happens to the "yes"?

Cue: "Other Worlds Theory!"

Basically, every decision NOT made is being lived out somewhere in some place, far, far away.
In another world, there is a land of rejected decisions living out the lives we almost had, experiencing joys we almost lived and pains we almost suffered.

Perhaps, this is the other world we see on occasion while we sleep or while our minds wander during a particularly dull and unending lecture.

The thing is, life is not a toy car. We can't just wind it up and let it go.
We have to steer. We have to choose... right or left? Do we park? Should we keep the emergency break on?
Do we stop and ask for directions?

I think lately, tonight especially, I have been thinking about those little "What Ifs," we all have buzzing around our heads.
At times, we can be so consumed by our "Other World" that we forget about this one, this day, this life.
We get stuck in the idea of what could have been, that we forget about what is.
We forget to live.


"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else." -Emily Dickinson

You Don't Know Me.

My dad has very few weaknesses, but apparently one is precious, little girls in ugly vests covered in patches, peddling cheap cookies in his general direction. Weak.
It is because of this that our pantry has been packed full of Girl Scout cookies, in varying flavors and box colors.
Now don't get me wrong, I am not at all complaining.
It has probably been one of the highlights of my vacation thus far.
What I am so upset about, is the abrupt and unnecessary name change of the hands-down greatest cookie in the history of Girl Scout cookies.

I am sitting on the couch, flipping the channels between Titanic and Entourage, about half-way through the box of delicious cookies when I set the bright purple package on the coffee table. I lean over to retrieve it, when I notice the white letters playing across the faces of smiling girls in tacky uniforms, is no longer the same. The letters no longer spell out the mysterious, yet delightful brand "Samoas," and instead reads, "Caramel Delites."

Okay, first of all...I would like to point out, that I have absolutely NO idea how these cookies received their name. I am not sure if it's some tribute to Samoans...or Samoa....or what...but that's not the point. (Side note: On standardized tests, whenever they ask me to "describe myself," I always bubble in the Samoan selection. You might ask why? Well, I'll answer your question with another question, why do they even ask?)

The point is, the name was mysterious and whimsical and fine exactly the way it was.

Double-u-tee-eff is a caramel delite?
And whose idea was it to rename the already perfect cookie? Delite? Really?
That's not even a word! Every time I type it out, a squiggly, red line assumes the appropriate position beneath the word, notifying the typer (me) that the word is either misspelled or made-up. AKA: get out of here "Delite," no one likes you, not even spell check.

Everybody Dance Now.

So I'll be the first to admit this....homegirl can't dance.
I just can NOT do it.
I know what you're thinking...Kelli, everyone can dance.
False.
Take that back.
It's not true and you KNOW it.

I don't know how or why I was ever invited to a school dance, but I'm sure my date immediately regretted that decision at my first attempt to "bust a move."

But it's okay, I have come to terms with my lack of coordination and overall rhythm.
I'm okay with the fact that my limbs just seem to flail around rather than move with grace and poise.

With this being said, it seems hard to comprehend why I ever agreed to sign up for a dance class.
The class is awkward enough without my presence, ie: pelvic thrust. Enough said!
Take our Antonio Banderas-esque professor + awkward hip motions + Gangling Limbs Magee hiding in the back row over there (me) = disaster!

So let me tell you, the fact that I have a SOLO dance performance in less than 10 hours is slowly but surely becoming the bane of my existence.
I tried to find something easy, I really did. But I can't even clap on beat let alone memorize a one minute dance! You heard me...one whole minute of pure, unadulterated death - I mean dance.

I finally decided on the dance break from Superstar, but chances are I'll forget everything on I worked on once I hit that stage. And by stage I mean the front of my class, in a small box of a studio...which will contain all of about 10 people.

Sometimes when I'm in times of deep desperation, I put my iPod on shuffle in hopes that it will work like a magic 8 ball. Whichever song comes on basically represents my life/future at this moment.

Wanna know what song I got?

Loser by Beck.

Invisible Children.

www.invisiblechildren.com


Wow.
The stories I heard this evening were beyond anything I could fathom.
And yet through that darkness, there's hope and phenomenal things being done, in an effort to stop this war and heal these broken people.
Feeling convicted.
We truly serve an awesome God.
Just wow.

Masochist.

I have decided my blog titles really have NOTHING to do with the content of the blog.
Whoops.

Why is it, that whenever you're trying to be your absolute quietest (is this a word), you end up making the most noise?

I'm just trying to put my laundry away...it's not that noisy of a task, and yet with each move I make it's as if someone is taking a pair of rusted scissors to a chalkboard.
No seriously.
I barely scootch, (also probably not a word), that's right, delicately scootch a hanger over, and an ear-bleeding screech ensues. (I'm a little proud with my use of the word ensue.)
Emma has yet to complain, but I know one of these days she's gonna throw something sharp in my general direction.
But what can you do really?

Speaking of laundry...

Since when did the washing machine become the place where good socks go to die?
I'm not even kidding. You put two in, you can bet only one is coming out alive.

Unless you're me...then you have the opposite problem.
That's right.
My socks seem to multiply.

I'm putting my laundry away, when all of a sudden there is a random sock just hanging out with my clothes.
I did what any normal person would do. Scream, then throw the "straggler" out in the hall.

Believe it or not, this is not the first time this has happened. I'm starting to think it's a conspiracy!
A few weeks ago, there was a pair of some not-so-cute, and totally embarrassing under-roos in MY laundry!
What is this, amateur hour? What is the world coming to?
Really now!? Who is this person throwing random bits of unwanted undergarments and foot apparel in with my clothes?

Feel free to leave your theories.
And by your, I mean the three of who read this...
Hi Mom!

I've Got It All(Most).

Don't act like this doesn't blow your mind...




Yeah, what?!
I don't even know what to think anymore.
All I know is, I want to be that pebble toad.

Soviet Kitsch.

I ripped my jeans last night...

...on a skateboard.

I would like to say that I was going really fast or getting my T Hawk on and doing some gnarley trick... I wouldn't even mind saying that I ran over a rock! But none of these are so...

I just fell.
I'm not even sure I was moving.

Now there is a shiny, new rip in Mr. William Rast.
Needless to say, he is not happy.

Stumbling Upon.

"Build a man a fire, and he'll be warm for a day. Set a man on fire, and he'll be warm for the rest of his life." -Terry Pratchett




Stumble Upon+Delicious Orange Juice in P. Comm., makes life just a little bit better.

Rubber Soul.

This might turn into a complete stream of consciousness, but I'm not really sure what I'm going to write about yet.
Here it goes.


You know how you can wear something so often that when you take it off, you can actually FEEL the absence of it?

I wear the same ring everyday, and every time I take it off, it's as if my finger sudden feels awkward and out of place.

I lost that ring today, and I can't shake this feeling of incompleteness (if that's even a word) from my finger. I'm not sure where it is, and I'm beginning to lose hope that I'll ever find it again. It's not particularly valuable but it really did mean a lot to me. Chelsey had given it to me just before I left for college, and I had worn it everyday since. I know not having it doesn't make that memory any less authentic or devalue our friendship in any way, I just really wish I could have it back.

In an effort to find it, I began searching out on Trinity lawn despite the fact that it was 11 at night and I could hardly see a thing. The flashlight barely lit the expansive mass of grass I had to cover, and for some reason the grass decided to be especially shiny and ring-shaped, deceiving me in believing my ring was everywhere!

What I found most shocking about this venture, was the amount of people willing to help me look. I was dumbfounded by the sincerity of my peers and even complete strangers who genuinely wanted to help me find it. They walked around on the cold, wet grass, hunched over looking for the tiniest bit of silver to flash in the otherwise completely green and brown grass.

I never found it.
But what I did find, was just as special.
I realized there is hope for humanity. There are good people out there, and I just so happen to go to school with all of them. I think sometimes we go through the motions of the day in continual monotony and we forget to truly care and love the people around us. We focus so much inward we forget there is an entire world full of broken, lost, hopeless people or perhaps just a blonde-haired girl looking for a lost ring.

And who knows, maybe someone else will find my ring. Someone who really needs it. Maybe it will bring someone else the luck or hope they need. Or maybe it will just make them feel a little better about their day.

Maybe God's using my ring for a bigger purpose. I think, in life sometimes, we get really discouraged when God strays away from the plan we had for ourselves. Not necessarily losing a ring, but maybe not having money for college, or losing a job, etc. We go through these disappointments and we say, "Okay God, please get me through this, please make this okay again." But like abstract art we are only seeing a tiny little piece of the overall picture. It's only once we take a few steps back, that things begin to make sense.

We never really know what we're jumping into, but sometimes we just have to go for it.




"If pickles goes for it right there that's a dead cat." -Tom, 500 Days of Summer

Blame It On The Tetons.

Top Ten Reason Why - I love my mom:
#10. She always seems to know when to e-mail me about crucial, life changing stories as well as keep me informed on current events.
For example, today:

She let me know that He Pingping passed away - aka the world's shortest man, whom my mom and I have grown especially fond of, through our habitual viewing of TLC documentaries on Primordial Dwarfism.


RIP Pingping, you will be missed.

"A person's a person, no matter how small." -Dr. Seuss

Recycled Air.

"Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart." -Anne Frank

Everything is Illuminated.

Blogs are funny.
They allow people to essentially talk about nothing, and yet they give you the option to "label your post."
But just in case you weren't sure exactly what "labeling your post" entailed...it gives you a few examples.
"e.g. scooters, vacation, fall"

Whoops. Would hate to forget to label my killer scooter post. That would just be embarrassing.


Oh and Emma sat on someone today.

And that's when I realized what a splendid day, today was.

Nothing good happens after midnight...

Or so says, Patti Johnson.

Well I have two words for you, Mom - Donut Man.
24 hours of pure, donut goodness. Always better after midnight.

Great talks ALWAYS happen after midnight. Probably from lack of sleep...everyone just gets delusional.

And from great talks, comes great blogs. ie: right hurrr!

Emma's is a one-liner, or so she says.
That's deep.

Sun burns apparently seem to hurt worse after midnight, not sure if that's good or not.
So maybe Patster was on to something.

I like sun burns vs. sun tans.
Anyone can have a sun tan, but sun burns tell a story.
Like, hey, I can see you enjoy wearing v-necks.