Soon You Will Be Leaving Your Man.

Here's the thing about being in love: it rocks.
Here's the thing about being anyone else: it. doesn't.

And let's just be honest, love is weird.
It's a weird thing.
Because we are OBSESSED with it. OBSESSED. Don't even try to pretend like you're not...
It's this magical, mythical, majestic thing to us and yet it's so common.

People fall in love everyday...maybe even twice a day.

I feel like I fall in love with every person I meet.
That one guy who couldn't figure out the gate code.
That one guy at Starbucks that one time. (Side note: To the presumptuous person who would assume that I was referring to them in this sentence...I would never write about you. Good luck having a baby at your prom.)
And I'm pretty sure Ryan Gosling and I had a moment.

Love happens everyday.

And it sucks when it's not happening to you.

It might even make you a little crazy.

But the thing is, breakups happen everyday too.
You're not the first person to have a broken heart...
...and neither am I.

And to be perfectly honest, most of my friends aren't even in a relationship.
And I'm happy for the ones who are. Because I love love. I'll admit it.

It's just on occasion, when the loneliness seeps in, and I've been listening to too much Conor Oberst, I might do something a bit emotionally reckless.
Like tell someone I like them...after he blatantly told me he doesn't like me. (Yes, you read that right. AFTER.)
And maybe I texted zee X only to have him text me back 9 hours later, which is pretty much a virtual "eff you."
Loneliness is a strange narcotic that makes you act out of character because you just want to feel something again. Ya know?

You want someone to text funny things to and share good music with and hold hands during the scary part of the movie you weren't even really paying attention to.

And I have to keep reminding myself, "I had that. I had that. I had that."
No matter how immature, naive and at times, a bit hopeless, it was. I had love.
And if wasn't love, it was a lot like it. (And yeah, when you are crazy and heartbroken, sometimes you quote "those kind" of movies and may or may not start balling every time Aqualung's - Brighter Than Sunshine comes on shuffle.)

But it wasn't right and I knew that.
But I love love and I wanted love to love me back.

And I guess in the back of my mind I thought, "I'm 20 and single...I'm gonna get asked out on SO many dates."
And I know it's hard to believe, given my vast movie knowledge and ability to make trumpet noises with my mouth, but the dates really aren't coming in.

It's like that time my grandma gave presents to all of the grandkids' significant others...and then gave me a pat on the shoulder.

Right? Awesome.

But I know I'm going about it all wrong...I can't just use love to have someone to text and make sappy mix CD's...cause that's what moms and friends are for.

And love really is this magical thing. Even if it does happen to pretty much everyone on any given day...it is the most wonderful thing in the world when it happens to you.

But in the mean time, I am content being 20 AND awesome.

Knucks.

Evening Morning.

It's that moment while you're checking out from the grocery store...
Or on your way to pay a ridiculous amount of money for poorly made goods from a quasi hipster store...

When the cashier rings up your total...
When the people in matching shirts approach you...

"That'll be $5.37. And would you like to save a child with no hands and no hope?"
"Excuse me, would you like to take a moment to help with gay rights?"

And I'm all, "Oh."

Because what do you say? "No?"

I look down at my purchases...a Red Bull and Hot Tamales. A minute ago I was amped at the opportunity to slaughter my brain cells, but reality has suddenly brought on this heavy guilt. I can't use the poor, college student excuse...because I don't think sugar is labeled a necessity. (Except maybe for finals week...or Tuesdays...)

I look toward Urban Outfitters, just 20 steps away and yet so far. A minute ago I was amped at the idea of spending $50 for a shirt that will undoubtedly fall apart the second time I wear it. And with my luck, in front of a huge crowd of people...who probably all have the same shirt.

Well, this is awkward. All I wanted was a Red Bull and now I have killed a child.

I wanted to look cool and now I'm ruining lives.

Reality will do that to you, man.

So I look at the cashier.
I look at Trendy McTrenderson with the clipboard.

But really what can you say? You can't really say no? Do I say thanks? Do I give them money? Do I make up a lie? Do I pretend someone else already asked me? Do they really keep track of all the people that walk by? Should I just start crying? What if I just left?

Sometimes I find myself so absorbed in what I'm doing, so lost in my own mind, my own world, that I forget what exists around me.

It's almost as if Italy never even happened.
Twas nothing, but a dream.

It feels so long ago and so incredibly far away.

Being back at school, is like the cashier asking you to donate money or the people on the street asking you to sign for some cause.

Life is real and it's happening.
I've already been back for a month and I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going.

Where am I going to live?
How will I ever find a job?
And how am I gonna save all these children?

There are so many things to worry about...and while I was in Italy/giving myself a heart attack/buying V-necks, I completely forgot about them.

It's almost as if they didn't exist, because I wasn't even in the real world. I was in Wonderland and now I'm back.
And things are real and that's scary.

Funny how life can creep up on you like that.

In the end, I did donate money. Because contrary to popular belief, I do have a heart.
I didn't sign anything, because I'm not a registered voter. I did say, "No thanks," however, and the lady promptly laughed at my politeness.





Twas a dream.

Girl with the Red Balloon

YouTube is a black hole. It sucks you in and 10 hours later you have watched 127 different versions of "Shit (insert random race/gender/sexual orientation or some combination of that, here) Say" and funny cats.

Most recently I watched not one, but TWO BBC documentaries on Westboro Baptist Church and....HOLY CRAP.

I seriously almost had to sleep with the light on.
I was so mentally disturbed that I couldn't even stop thinking about it.

What hurt the most about watching those videos is...I'm assuming they are referring to the same God I believe in.
And the same Bible I read.

I'll be honest, I tend to avoid conversations on politics or religion, because I hate being lumped into a group.
I hate the inevitable judgment that will come to me.
(Shoot, I never even registered to vote...)

And after spending an inordinate amount of time watching those videos...I felt all kinds of shame.
How do I explain that?
In a weird way, I felt responsible for them.

And I hate that.
I hate that believing in God has become such a negative thing.

And how do I argue that?
There is so much evil in the world.
And so much of it being done by people "in the name of Christ."

So what do I say?
I shouldn't have to hide something that's not just a huge part of my life, but rather, it IS my life.

And people joke that I am ignorant.
That believing in God is like believing in the Great Pumpkin.
People assume I hate science and that I'm living in Wonderland...that I'm uneducated and need to get my head out of the clouds.

I'm not trying to convince people otherwise.
My head is definitely in the clouds.
I'm not going to try and convince you that God is real or the fullness that comes with knowing that, so fret not.

But to me, God doesn't just love (contrary to what Westboro Scary Church has colorfully painted on their signs), he IS love.
I'm not gonna hide that.

There is a lot chaos in the world.
There's a lot of crappy stuff that I'm not trying to write off or make go away.

But sometimes if you look real hard and maybe squint your eyes a little, you can see how truly beautiful the world really is.
How lovely the people are and how wonderful life can be.

Sometimes I think we forget that.
Or we're too scared to admit that.
Too scared to say we're happy or that we voted for Ron Paul in the last election. (I mean not me...still not registered...)

And I want to embrace the beauty I see in myself and not be afraid of what other people might think or say or if they're not gonna like me anymore.
Because that's who I am.
I'm Kelli and I have flat feet and I've never voted and I believe in God.

Nice to meet you.

Whiskey Boxing.

So I don't want to sound like a broken record...but the hummingbird thing totally happened to me AGAIN.

And I don't want to be dramatic or anything...and say it's "sign"...but it's TOTALLY an omen of death! (or something.)

I suppose you could say I romanticize (is that the word?) things in my head. (Wait...no...that's not the word. Whatever it is though, that's what I do.)

I guess that's why I enjoy telling stories so much.
Or rather writing them down.

However, it's kind of a struggle having to rationalize with myself if something actually happened or not.
Kind of like waking up from a dream...for those few moments, you're not quite sure what's real and what's all in your head.

The other day, I received this email from my university's "Incident Command Team." It said I was deemed a "special contact" and would be notified in case of emergency...given further instructions...blah blah blah.

Basically, I was Liam Neeson.
And I knew they had chosen me because I had a certain "set of skills."

And the whole time, I was thinking, "Woah. How did my school know I was awesome enough to handle this immense responsibility? They must read my blog."

When I met my friends for lunch, I brought it up casually.
"So I got this weird email about being chosen for the 'Incident Command Team'...or whatever it's called." (See what I did there? Nonchalant. Classic.)

"Oh yeah, I got that too. I think we all did."

What da eff?

So you're saying...that we were ALL deemed "special contacts" and that I was NOT chosen based off my ninja-assassin skills?

So here I am, walking around, thinking...is this real life? Or the one I have created in my mind?
(The one where I assume I'm a ninja.)

It's not a bad place to be, it's just easy to get lost in.

We Walk With Lions.

Against my better judgment, I went to the movies on Monday. (Not that there's anything wrong with movie-going...but Monday evening equals full price, where I could've paid a measly 6 bucks if I went on Tuesday. Oh well.)

I saw "We Bought A Zoo." (The title of this post is indeed a quote from the movie...which I did write on my hand with the UPS pen my friend (who is employed there) gave me earlier that day...just so I wouldn't forget. It still hasn't washed off.)

And it was awesome.
I sat there eating my family pack of Twizzlers (a Christmas gift from my sister's boyfriend...suck-up.) and enjoyed every second.
It was just THAT precious.
Don't even tell me that the little red-headed girl didn't break your heart into a million pieces at EVERY word she spoke.
It was a great movie.

Afterward, we decided we needed nachos, because the insufferable stomachache I was experiencing from the Twizzlers could only be remedied by beef and cheese.
In the car, I was catching up on the text messaging that I had resisted during the movie, in an effort to be a respectable theatre patron.
"Holy crap! We Bought A Zoo...so awesome. Jonsi...double awesome."
And then the recipient(s) of said text proceeded to tell me that they were surprised because rottentomatoes only gave it a 63%.
Say whaaaa?!

I hadn't even checked RT before going to the movie! (Very unlike me. Actually, it's mildly surprising how much of my life has been determined by rotting tomatoes.)

And then I wasn't so sure anymore.
I started rationalizing with myself.
Did I REALLY like the movie?
Was there anything truly "outstanding" about the story? Beside the fact that they "bought a zoo." (Which how did they NOT notice those animals when they were first driving up? Come on, now!)

So we finally get to Chili's and my friends and I begin discussing the movie.
Chelsey and I, of course, loved it. (At least I thought I did.) Her boyfriend and his roommate were a bit wary...because they like to get all philosophical about everything and can't just freakin' ENJOY anything.

They bring up all these points and I begin to wonder if I missed something, by saying I loved it too early.

And that's what propaganda does to you, man!
A stupid "63%" and green splat caused me to wonder if I even enjoyed the movie I already KNEW I enjoyed.
I KNEW I loved it until Jerry and Mike told me it was just like every other movie. (sans Zoo)

And that sucks.
Don't EVEN act like there's no judgment based on your choice of film.
Or that you have to lie to your friends about watching the Pretty Little Liars marathon on ABC Family.
Because you do.
But you shouldn't have to.

I'm not saying I'm never gonna look at RottenTomatoes again. (Or never watch Pretty Little Liars again.)
But movies are meant to be enjoyed. Even if they are crappy...or just like every other movie you've seen.
EVEN if Matt Damon has a weird haircut.

It was a great movie.
The kind that makes you feel awesome afterward.

Unlike those nachos...(which I think were in cahoots with the Twizzlers.)

My Dear Acquaintance.

When I was little, (I start off a lot of blogs with this phrase) I had this strange fear of space.

This was probably due to the accidental viewing of some crappy, hotel movie about people getting lost in space and I think there were some aliens or something...I dunno...the fact is, they were never able to make it back home. They ran out of fuel and were forced to float around in space for the rest of their lives!

And that FREAKED me out.

I think I just hate that feeling of being somewhere completely unfamiliar and feeling like I'll never get home again.
That AND having aliens suck my brains out...I've seen Zenon: Girl of the 21st Century, I know the truth. (Zetus Lapetus) (Yes, I just googled that to make sure the spelling was correct.)

So anyway, living in Italy was kind of like going to the moon for me. It wasn't just that I was so far away from everything I knew and understood, it was that I literally FELT far away. Like being on another planet...and in some ways, I was.

But I loved it.
I loved every minute of it.
Even the minutes I loathed entirely...deep down, I still loved them.

What I wasn't expecting, was how it would feel once I came back home.

It was the strangest thing.
I was gone for 4 months, but coming back home felt like nothing had changed.

Except for me.

I mean our grass looked a little different and Spartacus is hibernating, but other than that, everything was relatively the same.

And suddenly, I felt like the alien. Like I didn't belong here.

People would ask me questions about the food and my favorite parts (pretending they care...just kidding...sorta) and it was like trying to describe something without using words. I didn't know how to tell them about Italy or even myself. I'm not saying I'm a completely changed person, but in a lot of ways, I'm not the same person as I was when I left.

And that's weird.

I'm still afraid of space.
I would never, under any circumstances, go to space. You couldn't pay me enough money.
That's why we have telescopes and Google.

But I'm not afraid of leaving anymore.
I love my home and I'm blessed to live here...(even though you other pretentious, California snobs try to bring me down....you know who you are.)
But the world doesn't seem so big anymore. (Though I would rather punch myself in the face than sit on a plane for 11 hours again.)