Come home, TomTom

All I can think about today is my missing TomTom charger. Which means all I'm going to write about today is my missing TomTom charger.

Here's the deal. That TomTom and I have been through a lot. A few summers ago, I made an epic road trip from good ol' Michigan to Seattle. Coast to coast. Alone. Did I mention I planned this road trip in oh, two days?

The first day was brutal. I stopped somewhere in the middle of Illinois after getting on and off the same highway exits for about 45 minutes (Literally. When I realized I was just going in circles on the same clover-shaped highway exit paths I broke out in instant tears.). I pulled into a CVS and called my boyfriend at the time, sobbing. Straight up sobbing. 

"I can't do this," I blubbered, "Everything is really hot and fuzzy and I don't feel good and I just feel like I'm gonna pass out. And I'm clammy. And I have a fever. Oh my god I think I'm sick. Oh my god. How can I do this?"

"Autumn," he said calmly, "Is your AC on?"

Oh. Remember that summer? The great summer of country-wide heat wave when the electric companies literally shut off power for a few hours each day because they were overheating their machines? You know, that one. I had been driving in that god-awful heat wave (97 degrees at the time?) for four hours with no AC. 

Once I got the AC on, I made my second mistake of the day by hitting the 'refresh' button on my iPhone map. Insert fresh round of sobbing when my map and directions completely disappeared because I was in the middle of nowhere and not connected to the right network (who goes on a cross-country road trip with just their iPhone?!?!?!). This time, I called my parents sobbing who insisted that I stop at the next major town and get a real GPS. The next major town: Hannibal, MO. 

Every stereotype you have ever heard, and more. I pulled over at a gas station and interrupted the female cashier (missing four teeth, leather skin, smoker voice) and a nice young man (missing one tooth, freckled skin, cowboy hat) chatting.

"Excuse me," I said. "Do you have a Best Buy around here?"

"A what?" she said.

"A Best Buy? You know...like a technology store." She stared. "I need to buy a GPS? I'm taking a road trip?"

"Ohhhh...no we ain't got one of those anywhere around here. But we do have a WalMart. They should have most everything you need."

I took down some directions from her and was about to leave when she literally jumped up on the counter, reached over, and grabbed my necklace "Wellll lookeeeee here!" she shouted, "That right there is a real pretty necklace! I've never seen such a thing before!"

Now I don't know about you, but after driving for four hours with no AC, getting lost countless times, and pulling into the world's sketchiest gas station in America's most poorly named city, the last thing your heart needs is some woman you've never met grabbing at your necklace. Surprisingly, she genuinely did just want to compliment my crucifix (praise Jesus!) and send me on my way with well wishes. In the end, I got my TomTom and everything after that was relatively smooth sailing.

The point is, TomTom, I went through a LOT to get you, and I can't quit you even though sometimes you try to be a straight up biatch and send me into the middle of nowhere Wyoming (still hatin' on that, yep). And now, you're gone from me. I have a road trip this weekend across four states, and I need you. I need you, boo. I can picture you shivering, alone and cold, in my ex-boyfriend's mother's car. I hope she treats you right. Do you hear me calling for you TomTom? Do you think we could organize a trade? Bottle o' wine for my TomTom? We could have a nice little chat and bitch about our mutual hatred of PTLs? TomTom, come home. 

An Emotional Graduation

This one's for me. I'm not writing it for sympathy.  I'm not writing it for any other reason than the fact that this blog is primarily for me. And when I look back at these posts in a year, I want to remember this day. This day, when it didn't hurt to think about you, write about you or see your name on my phone. This day. The day the sunshine didn't hurt.

But I'm also writing this because I want to be honest. I want you, reader, to know who I am. There's nothing better than a brand new friend who knows nothing about you, except an old friend who knows everything about you.

It's spring. All around me, I see photos of people graduating. I think of everything they're about to go through. I think of dogwood days and sunshine and my own graduation. I think of where I was at this point a year ago.

But to think of that, we need to go back a little farther.

****

During my senior year of college, I was in a super serious relationship. We fell in love. We made choices, sacrifices. Or more, I made sacrifices. But they were willing sacrifices because I had so much faith and trust in us. We put his job first. I decided not to take the GRE, not to apply to graduate schools and not to apply to any other jobs or programs until we figured out where his job would be first. If the point was to be together, it didn't make sense for me to apply to anywhere until we knew where his job would be. So I put everything on hold. We had a plan, we had a date, we had everything. Until we didn't. Or more realistically, until I didn't have it all anymore. I started getting really weird texts from him at all hours of the night talking about dark holes and dark places and not dragging me down with him. Most of our calls ended with both of us in tears, him from depression and me from trying desperately to help him through something I couldn't. And then three months later, three months of dealing with his depression and my sudden lack of concrete anything, I learned it was all a lie. There wasn't any depression. But there was another girl, that he couldn't fess up to. Thanks, Facebook. Those months were rough. Suffice to say, when I walked across that graduation stage I felt emotionally and physically drained. I didn't have a plan like most of my friends. Any plan I would've pursued, I'd missed the boat on. It was too late for grad school apps or most of the other programs I wanted. Worse than not having a plan was feeling like someone else had put me in that position of having nothing. I felt lost. Insanely, insanely lost. I hadn't just lost my boyfriend, I had lost my best friend. The person I would normally go to with these feelings of uncertainty was no longer on the other end of the phone.

And it kept going. A lot of people don't understand why it took me so long to "get over it." Because it never ended, that's why. Just when I would get going again, he'd pop up. I finally accepted a job offer halfway across the country from him, in Missouri, when he popped up again. Suddenly it was more phone calls and 3 am voicemails with hopeless declarations of love and apologies. Suddenly it was "well what if I moved there too?" I didn't want to say no. We were planning on getting married, you don't just flip a switch and suddenly not want that again. But like the first time, it ended again. It was a midnight phone call talking about how much he missed me, and then an 8 am Facebook post about his engagement to "the other woman." I realized her and I had switched roles. Suddenly I had become 'the other woman.' And that's when it ended.

*****

Here's my point. I've been R****-sober for three months now and it feels GOOD. It feels AMAZING. I finally feel like me again. I'm finally HAPPY. I look in the mirror and I don't see a girl recovering from a plan gone completely awreck. I see a girl with OPTIONS and a FUTURE and genuine HAPPINESS. And this is a big deal to me. And yes, I knew these things before. Yes I knew my self-worth wasn't rooted in that relationship. Blah blah blah. But life happens and love happens and I think anyone who has been in that type of deep love understands what I mean.

Some of you may roll your eyes. Some of you may think I'm exaggerating  Some of you may think that I shouldn't give a fuck anymore. Well, whatever. This one's for me. And for me, today, I'm EXCITED. I came out the other side of a situation that was pure insanity--fake depression, hidden girlfriends, failed futures, lost loves--and I came out laughing and healthy and happy. I gave myself a pat on the back once just for surviving it. But I'm past that. I'm better than that. I'm happy and ready and excited. Today, I'm grateful that I get to stand in the sun and make any damn choice I please. I'm happy that the thought of him no longer makes me cringe.

I feel like this is my second graduation. Now, when I stand out in the bright rays of the sunshine and look towards my future I feel uncertainty and butterflies and misgivings and excitement and joy all at once. I may be scared, but I am filled with such, such joy at the certainty that any choice I make is mine and mine alone. No one is in control of my future except me. I get to choose. Nobody's writing this story except for me. And that my friends, is a most wonderful, wonderful feeling. 

Happy graduation, Autumn.

Thank you to all of you who read through that whole thing. I hope you'll stay along for the ride--good things are to come! And a huge, huge thank you to all the women who made me feel so comfortable at the beginning of the week when I posted Dogwood Days--I couldn't have pushed publish without you. 

Dogwood Days

(You should know I struggled to push publish on this. They come here for sass, not sentimentality I told myself. I said the story wasn't good enough, wasn't big enough, wasn't worthy enough. It was trivial and childlike and meaningless, I argued. So here's me, pushing publish anyways.)

We're gettin' sentimental up in this joint today. 

It's springtime. It's sunny. The trees are in full bloom. And here's what I'm thinking of. 

The dogwood trees of Hillsdale College.

When I see a dogwood, I think of you. And you. I think of a spring haze leading to a summer daze. I think of finding you, of losing you, of first meeting you. I think of the early days when everything was happy and bright and our story was just beginning. I think of how those dogwoods looked like relief. Sweet, sweet relief. They looked like a hurdle overcome, a past left behind, a future open before me. I think of sending you away in front of those dogwood trees to war, to deserts, to people who wanted to hurt you. I think of being renewed. I think of the college that shaped us, the times that tried us and the love that relieved us. They've always been kind to me, the dogwood days.

**

The scent of the dogwood trees was a drug to their senses, guiding them, goading them. In the bright clean heat of a springtime afternoon, when the world was tinted pink and lovely underneath the loaded branches of the dogwood trees, they had made such a tiny bet. One buckeye bite per every flower. She, a part-time feminist who stood unnecessarily tall in her desire to never reduce herself to a baking, cooking, husband-hunting girl. He, an overly large, bulging, heavy football player who preferred the little moments to grand gestures. She wanted a grand gesture. 

But somewhere in the middle of finals, summer plans, interviews, offers, acceptances, graduation goodbyes and sentimental sisterhood moments she snapped. She didn't want flowers because they were part of a bet. She wanted flowers because he wanted to give them to her, not because she had made him something. She told him as much on the phone in a 30-second tirade  to which he promptly responded "take a nap and call me back in an hour." 

But she didn't take a nap. Her Catholic guilt washed over her in an instant, and she huffed and puffed her way into the kitchen. She dropped the four ingredients--powdered sugar, peanut butter, butter and chocolate chips--onto the counter with a loud bang and got to work. She would be the bigger person here. She would make them because she cared, not because anything was coming from it. 

That night was harder than she imagined. They said a terse and strained goodbye for the summer. Neither one of them wanted to budge, neither one give the first inch. She pulled back from his arms and propped herself up on his chest. 

"New bet," she said.

"What?" He didn't know where this was going.

"In the next 5 minutes, I bet I can surprise you more than you can surprise me."

"What?"

"I'm going to surprise you."

"I don't believe you."

"Wait here."

She scrambled off the bed, down the stairs and into her car. Back at the house, she threw the buckeyes into any container she could find, and drove back there in a flash. He was half asleep when she popped his door open and she sat down softly on the edge of the bed. 

"Close your eyes."

"They are closed, I'm sleeping."

She punched him. Softly, of course. "Close them. Open your mouth."

He obediently did as he was told. She popped a buckeye into his mouth, and watched as his face lit up. He grabbed her in a bear hug and threw her on the bed, showering her in kisses and compliments. 

"I thought the bet was off?" He grinned mischievously. 

"It was. I just did it because I care." He smiled in response, and rolled her back on top of him. 

After a few more minutes, it was time for the next goodbye. The real goodbye, this time. She gathered her things, and was surprised when he got up too. He grabbed his car keys. "You don't have to, I drove here." 

"Well I can at least walk you to your car."

"It's fine. You have an exam at 8 am, get in bed."

"No, I'm going to walk you to your car."

She would have been happy with just that. They walked in silence, hand in hand, down the stairs, their arms pulling apart as she veered right to her parked car. He let their arms extend fully before pulling her back into his side, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I told you, I drove here! What are you doing?" He pulled her along with him towards his car."What--"

"Shhh."

"I--"

He clicked his key fob twice, and the back gate of his car lifted up, triggering the overhead light to shine down. 

Dogwoods.

Everywhere.

Back seat laid down, dogwoods stretching as far as the eye could see. Bathed in the overhead light, the beautiful pink petals shown brighter than any star in the sky. Branches and branches of dogwoods. There must of been hundreds of flowers on those branches, and they were beautiful and bright and light and sweet smelling and simple and grand and perfect and all hers. It was a carpet of dogwood flowers and it was for her.

"I thought the bet was over," she whispered.

He nuzzled the top of her head. "I think I won."

Somwhere between that setting sun
I'm on fire and born to run
You looked at me and I was done
Well, we're just getting started

Where it all began

40 year old men love me. And strangers. Strangers love me.

Examples:

• 40 year old single dad who followed me around in the grocery store
• 40 year old man who came up to me at Starbucks and asked if I wanted to get coffee
• Homeless man who offered me his phone number because he "thought everyone could use a friend"
• Stranger who let me eat their hamburger
• Stranger who offered me a ride home from the Megabus
• 40 year old man in airport who told me I looked beautiful that day
• Three 40 year old men who came to my rescue that moment and helped me find a cab
• 40 year old man at Chicago Union Station bar who told me he "wouldn't creep on me too much"
• Stranger who tried to hook me up with his son at a bar
• Strange taxi cab driver who gave me a kiss on the cheek

And the list goes on and on. While I can't seem to find any men my own age to hit on me, never fear...a 40 year old is near. Sometimes I ask myself, why? Why me? Is it my baby pudge cheeks? My lack of makeup? My split ends? Do I look young enough to be a prize, but just hot mess enough to be attainable? When did this start?

Answer: 2006. Junior year of HIGH SCHOOL. And the proof is in this photo. 

My friends and I went to France on a school trip, and my friend Cade and I shared a camera. Flipping through our photos a few weeks later, we found this gem (ignore my model half-smile). 

WHO IS THIS MAN?!?!?!

I'll tell you who...my first-ever creeper.

The Unreal Life: attracting strangers and old men since 2006. A legacy of creepers. 

That Time I Went to the Gospel Church

I like adventures. Do I like big adventures? Yes. Am I a broke postgrad? Yes. That means that even when I can't have big adventures, I try to make little adventures. Adventures out of exploring new things, new places and new people. Anything can be an adventure, if you put your mind to it.

Once upon a time, I lived in a magical place. Called Grand Rapids, MI. I'm obsessed. I have zero shame about admitting this. Once a week, I would go to my favorite bakery (conveniently located on the edge of the ghetto, so as a teen it was really win-win for my parents and I. I felt rebellious by going to the location, while my parents were satisfied by the fact that their daughter thought going to a bakery was rebellious). Every time, I drove past the same church and saw the same sign "PRAYER TIME. TUESDAYS. 10 AM." So finally, one day, I was like, why not?

Keep in mind, I'm Catholic. My idea of prayer time is that we would enter the sanctuary quietly, kneel, pray as long as needed and then leave. I thought it would just be an excuse to go see the inside of another of Grand Rapids' beautiful, over-looked churches. Boy was I surprised.

It was everything you would imagine an African-American Baptist church prayer circle to be. They raised their hands. Interjected whenever their heart moved them to. And they called me "Sister H***." They were some of the nicest, genuine people I've ever met. And their sincere prayers opened my eyes to the types of things going on in Grand Rapids that I had no idea about.

It made me want to learn more. To dig deeper, and go deeper. I've always had a struggle with that. I want to go to the ghetto, I want to go to the poor, I want to go in the middle of it all. I want to observe and watch and see what their life is like. See how their kids grow up. See success stories. See failures. And in that way, be moved to action. But...then reality hits. I am a SWF. In reality, I shouldn't do any of those things because it is literally not safe. I need to find the balance...

Tips? Thoughts, comments, suggestions? How do you live the big life you always dreamed of as a teenager, once you enter the reality of a post-grad?

I was a weird kid

Hiiii Friends! I'm back! I missed you while I was off chasing cancelled planes and trains, gawking at the flooding and otherwise gallivanting through Michigan, my great love. I know on Mondays we talk about our weekend, but I'm not quite ready to. This weekend embodied the proverbial phrase, "a lot to chew on." I was hoping the weekend would give me a sense of clarity, a "yes, you belong here, proceed with Plan A" feeling, but somewhere between three missed planes, a train, and two cab rides to the middle of nowhere...I think I lost any ability I would have had to hear that message in my exhaustion and impatience.

So. New topic for today. I was a weird kid.

1. I ate butter. By the spoonful. 

2. I was obsessed with all miniature food. My father, loving, loving man that he was would make miniature pancakes. I was also obsessed with miniature toys. My friends and I spent hours and hours and hours of our life trying to craft miniature beds and clothes and accessories for our miniature stuffed animals.

3. Whenever the phone rang, I would drop whatever I was holding and scream "AH BYE YI YI" until someone picked it up.

4. I don't count like a normal human. Originally, I think I developed my countdown system so that it would make every exciting event seem like it was closer. But then...no one ever corrected me. Here's the "Autumn System" as my family still calls it today. In my countdown system, you can't count the day of and you can't count the day before. Because by the time you're at the day before, your event is practically already there. Plus, logically, if you count by "days" then at the day before, at no point are you 24 hours away from your event--it will always be less than 24 hours away and therefor you can't say you have a day left.

Example.

 If today is Monday, how many days until Friday? 2. That's right. Two. Because you can't count Friday and you can't count Thursday. 

Want an instant way to increase your optimism and joy? Employ the Autumn Method, where there are only two days to Friday.

5. I was every parent's nightmare. I got suspended once in kindergarten for making out with a cute little black boy in the sand box. I remember being incredibly turned off, however, when a few days later we planned a 'play date' and he wrote his address on a PURPLE piece of construction paper with PENCIL. Can you read PENCIL on PURPLE? No. I remember literally thinking "he is so STUPID" and never talking to him again.

6. I was a "pint of sass"...and I never grew out of it. That's right. To this day, I continue to be the sassiest person my family has ever had the misfortune of being related to met.My figure skating coach coined the phrase when I was a mere seven years old. Really, it's his fault. I hated it when he first said it, and the more he said it, the more determined I was to be as sassy as possible just to piss him off. Catch-22?

7. I was a klepto. When I was five, we moved from Detroit to Grand Rapids. I was pretty sad about it, but the part that made me saddest was moving away from my neighbor friend who had the world's cutest shirt that I was obsessed with borrowing. It had pink and black stripes and three pink heart buttons at the neck. I borrowed it at least once a week. I remember, very intentionally, the day before we moved asking to borrow it. She said, "aren't you moving?" and I said "Oh, not for like another week or two." Twelve hours later, the bitterness of moving was soothed by the sweet success of having my favorite shirt safely packed away.

I'll look for a better baby picture when I get home, but for now...enjoy this awful, awkward high school photo of myself. Why I thought this was a hawt pose, I'll never know. And yes, I used to dye my hair red.

That time I told my niece Mary was an attention-whore

I didn't hear the tornado sirens, but I did see the pack of five moms running in unison and that's kind of the same thing, right? That's right. I survived my first Missourah tornado.

Consequentially (not really, the storm has nothing to do with it) I am having immense writer's block. I read a blog today that really struck a chord with me when the writer said that blogging forces her to be more present in the moment and drag things out. Because really, our life is funny and it is adventurous, but so often we're waiting for "the next big thing" that we miss it. So, while I'm here, I want to remember being here. And a huge part of my life here in good ol' Missourah has been the kids I get to work with in the nursery. I recently realized that perhaps my sass has gone a little too far, especially when it comes to children. I imagine their not listening...but they could be...So for now, until my writer's block heals, enjoy the following sample of my sassy-child interactions.

12-year-old: hey! hey! hey! 

me: WHAT

12-year-old: i got a lunchbox (he has been repeating this for about 30 minutes, 

and I finally catch on)

me: yeah? did you get the velcro too? 

*12-year-old's mouth drops open in utter horror*: how do YOU know that song???

*church choir singing*

6-year-old girl: this music SUCKS

me: HEY. That is the music of the LORD. 

Israel (the special needs boy I watch, who has absolutely no sensory perception) has developed a new habit of whenever he's in a crowd, just putting his arm straight out (Hitler style, no joke) and pushing through into anyone in his way until they move. So of course, he does this to a 60 year old woman, and of course, his hand comes to the height of her butt. Which he proceeds to push on. For a few too many seconds. 

Me: Israel! If you're gonna touch her butt, you could at least say hello!

Creepy 70 year old man behind me: Heh heh, he's just starting early. 

And now...the grand finale. Throwback Thursday...to Christmas...me...and the love of my life...re-enacting the Christmas nativity story. Please enjoy the key parts where I teach her that:

 +Mary was "big and fat and pregnant and this made her very tired"  

+Jesus's "first friends were other animals in the manger, who he sometimes slept with but surprisingly never crushed him" 

+Mary loved all the attention she got when the three kings came bearing gifts

And yes, she does jump in shock when I sneeze at the end. Seriously. Best 5 minutes you'll ever spend.
(Also, sorry I'm not sorry I'm not a professional videographer and at one point my fat fingers cover the mic for like...a minute. But just turn your sound up, it's still gold!)

Like I said...I should watch what I say more...

Day made? You're welcome.

First Impressions are Golden

It's no secret here that I like to endlessly mock my ex-boyfriends. But, I'm also good at poking fun at myself. It's important to have balance. So, today, I'd like to share Monogamous Mono Man's first impressions of me. First-meeting and first-impression stories are my favorite topics to ask of anyone. So, without further ado...

First Impression #1
MMM and I first met before we were even officially enrolled in the same college. We were both invited to compete in a 'Distinct Scholars' Scholarship Weekend' (Spoiler alert: when not perusing the Internet for the perfect GIF I am actually quite smart. MMM and I bonded over three things: vodka and nerdiness. Shoot. We don't have a third thing. Womp womp.). So anyways, here we are. Me, a terrified, anxious ball of nerves who couldn't remember the essay prompt and was scared shitless from an interview panel with six professors who asked me what I would say to an Arabian man who thought stoning his wife was morally acceptable. And MMM, a quiet, nervous white boy from an all-boys Lutheran school. We had to take a group picture, but the group was too wide for one shot. So naturally, all the girls had to sorority squat (foreshadowing of our bright future) in front of the boys. I was in front of MMM and accidentally hit with my boot-ay. Feeling quite sassy I turned around and said "I better not feel anything hard back there." Winner, winner chicken dinner. He confessed later that it was the dirtiest thing anyone ever said to him and the first thing he told all his friends about when he got home.

His reaction:

My reaction:

First Impression #2
MMM and I lost each other in the great sea of people that is a 1,000 person school and didn't run into each other until 3 years later, when we were juniors. We had traveled far from our nerd-days and entered into our frat-tastic days of drinking and partying. We all have that 'one spot' we went to in college, and mine was the Sigma Chi house. In Sigmachi, there were two bathrooms for parties: the first floor, dirty, sticky, smelly gross one or the basement, single one that was kept clean by a devoted group of three who kept it spotless for their shack-attacks (that's another word for sleepover partners, kids). Anyways. First impression #2: I kicked in (literally) the door to the nice bathroom downstairs and demanded MMM (halfway done peeing) get out because I had to go. He was very obliging.

His reaction:

My response:

The Final Rose First Impression #3
After yet another year, we found each other again. This time, relatively sober and fully clothed. I was at a 'Zookeeper and the Animals' party, fighting adamantly with one of his brothers over whether the feathers in my hair made me a turkey or a jungle bird. I voted jungle bird. MMM tried to come up the staircase and I blocked his way until he would vote. And that, friends, was our last first impression.

His reaction:

My reaction:

His mom's first impression
I made a holocaust joke. Which she didn't get. Womp womp. And hey--no judgies! My last French class was reading holocaust literature, in french, for four months straight. Dying babies and children and women and starvation and burning EVERY DAY. It was AWFUL. And sometimes tasteless things happen in the privacy of my sorority basement. Also, pre-gaming holocaust literature class does not make it any better. FYI. Take it from an expert.

___

God bless his little heart for making it through all those wildly awkward first encounters. Happy Friday, y'all. I'm off to make some bad choices and hopefully some more golden first impressions that I can blog about come Monday =)

Oh, and in honor of Back that Azz Up Friday (which has really boosted my day), I give you:

What crazy first encounters have you had?

I'm a Tree Fairy!

The other day, I was sitting on my ass couch watching TV when a commercial with the typical adorable child came on. Instantly, I started bemoaning "childhood is wasted on children. wouldn't it be great to be a child again...just for one day?" I thought of all the things I would do as a child again for just one day: not pay bills, not complain about whatever my mom cooked for dinner--just be grateful I wasn't cooking it, get a bunch of hugs, spend all day outside just playing. Remember when we were kids and we just went outside without having anything to do? As an adult, I feel like I can't really go outside without something to do. I need to be playing a specific game, taking a specific walk, or reading a specific book. But when I was a kid I would just go outside without any specific activity in mind most times...but four hours later I was dirty, tired, happy and content.

This weekend, winter visited Missouri.

I enjoyed laying on my couch for hours...but around 4 o'clock I wanted to start ramming my head against the wall. I caught myself whining "I can't even go to my gym classes because there's so much snow. Ugh." And then I saw my neighbors outside, building a snowman. My roommate thought they were crazy and I thought they were brilliant. They wanted to be outside, so they did. I wanted to be outside, so I did. At first, I took a walk. But that can only last so long. And then...I spied it. We had already had one tree fall, and my roommate and I were waiting for others to snap from the weight of the snow.

That's cool, I didn't need to get upstairs anyways.

I was desperate for a way to stay outside. And then it came to me. I could be the self-proclaimed tree fairy of my apartment complex. I could prevent other trees from snapping by ridding them of their too-heavy snow! So I ran around and shook all the branches I could find.

It hit me. Literally, and metaphorically. Metaphorically, my wish had come true. I was a little kid for a day. I didn't have a care in the world. I ran from tree to tree to tree, up hill, down hill, across the parking lot. Just shaking branches. Letting it avalanche onto my head. Sometimes pulling the branch back like a sling-shot and using it to hit the snow off the branch ahead. Unburying some branches that were already buried completely under the snow. It was wonderful. I know it sounds simple but--no, no buts. It was simple. And it was beautiful. It was fun and simple and thrilling. Each time I shook it, shrieked, got pelted by snow, and then got to watch the branch swing two feet up in the air, snow free again I felt a huge rush.

While I was swinging away, I was reminded of this quote.

I couldn't be a kid for a day then, but I could be a kid for today. When I wanted it, the answer was "not now." As a human, I oh so often assume that means "not ever." But today was a great reminder that our God is an awesome God, and he never forgets His children--down to their littlest desire. How beautiful.  Think of everything the Lord has to keep track of. Politicians, starving children, single moms, Pope Francis running away from his body guards (again) to go bless some homeless people. All these people and burdens and prayers...and yet He remembers me, a little ol' girl in Missourah, under a tree full of snow. Out of all of the requests and prayers and petitions He gets every single day, He remembered my one, thirty-second thought, "I want to be a kid again" and He made it happen.

Some of you are probably rolling your eyes. It was frickin' snow, get over it you may say. But to me, it was more. It was a reminder that "not now" doesn't mean "not ever." And I needed this reminder, desperately.  I've been stressing over everything--money, job, Missourah. And today, I got my answer. Not now. That doesn't mean He's forgotten me or that my life is over and I just have to deal with where I am. I'll get where I need to be, when I need to be. And along the way, I'll learn some cool things. Like today, I learned the coolest way to enjoy snow as an adult. And hopefully, I saved a branch or two.

Love,
The Tree Fairy

Now that's a rosy-pink shade of exertion that even my Bar Method teacher would approve of. Brought to you for free from the great outdoors.

You're bored? Do something. You want to get off your ass?  Get up.
You want to go outside? Go outside. Is it hard? You bet. Worth it? Absolutely.

I ran from tree to tree like a total moron. Do my neighbors think I'm crazy?
Who cares. I'm fabulous.

Travel Tuesdays: Dajabon

Once upon a time, during my short-term missions trip to the Dominican Republic, we had the opportunity to take a "day trip" to Dajabon. Dajabon is the only marketplace available on the border between Haiti and the Dominican. Because of their intense history, the Haitians and the Dominicans are filled with distrust and tension. Think: the Dominicans feel about the Haitians the way many Americans feel about illegal immigrants. In the DR, they will stop your car frequently at any given road and check to make sure there are no Haitians. And while Americans think that the DR is a second-world country deserving of aid and support, in comparison to Haiti, Haitians think the DR is a land of wealth and opportunity. Dajabon is only open (granted, haven't been there for four years so forgive me if this is outdated info) two days a week for four hours each day.

What does this result in? Mayhem. For the Haitians who visit the market, their livelihood depends on those eight hours a week. There is no one who will (or can) buy their goods in Haiti, so they are desperate to get as many goods over the border and sold to the 'wealthy' Dominicans as possible. They run back and forth over one bridge with cart after cart of goods, dumping it at a family stall before running back for more. Literally, running. I saw men pushing huge horse carts or dragging trailers behind them.

There is one central road for all the traffic to go across the bridge. It is literally one lane wide, but since the market is only open for four hours people rarely care about that. It is a sea of humanity. You look to your left, there's a horse cart. Look to your right, trailer. Look above, the bags of goods people are carrying on their heads jilt with their steps and threaten to fall on your face. Look behind you, people are pushing against you--desperate to get more, more, more sold. Look ahead, there is no end in sight. A constant stream of desperate people running. I kept watching for cameramen from the Discovery Channel or National Geographic.

Aerial shot of the bridge leading from Haiti to the market

If your lucky, things on top of their heads are in soft bags. Or, like this man, they're just straight up dangerous. A wheel barrow? On your head?!?

Of course, my friend Nikki and I got separated from the group (would you expect anything less?). The road had erupted into even more chaos, because there was a full-blown military truck coming down the single-lane road. Military truck, meet horse carts. Horse carts, meet the military truck that does not care if your sole means of transportation/work is crushed by it's overbearing wheels. Because there were so many people in the road, we had plenty of time to watch the truck role towards us at a slow speed. We saw women try to squeeze sideways between carts and truck, getting hit in the chest by the side-mirror or barely escaping with all toes intact. Needless to say, panic started rising. We couldn't go left, we couldn't go right, people were crushing into us from behind and we certainly couldn't go forward because the only thing waiting for us there was the front of a truck. Suddenly, a small, dark hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me smoothly between two people and behind a horse cart he was pushing. He wrapped my hands around the cart handle and held them tightly for a few seconds, as if to say "stay here." The cart was like a boulder in the sea of humanity. People flowed around us, and for a few seconds, I felt like I could breath again. The man started smiling and singing chipper songs (which of course we couldn't understand) until the truck safely passed us and we could go back to our group.

Maybe this is why I'm not scared (enough) of strangers. Because in the end, it always works out. He only had eight hours a week to make his living at this chaotic, insane, dangerous market. And he spent ten of those precious minutes helping me, a stranger.

If you like, I have many more stories from the DR that I can share =) 
Don't forget to link up with Helene and share your stories!
Also, these photos are from good ol' Google. Apparently the majority of my DR photos 
didn't make it on the trek from MI. I have some cute ones of the kiddos though for future use =)

That Time I Joined a Sorority

Since it closes today, I should probably participate in my own link-up. Shwoopsies. What can I say, it hasn't been my week. It's hard to believe that just at the beginning of this week was International Badge Day. Thank you to everyone who has linked up. It has truly been a joy reading your posts and being reminded of what a wonderful sisterhood we all share as sorority women.

A lot of people have gone really deep in their posts--talking about some really, really great things they learned. And while it's true that I learned servant leadership, time management and communication skills from my sorority...I think that today I just want to talk about the little things I learned. Things that don't go in a brochure or speech or bulletin. Things that go in the heart, written for keepsies.

I learned...

...that sometimes you don't know what you're getting yourself into, but you have to trust the process, trust the people who went before you and trust that it's going to give you something you need. 

...that sometimes a best friend is one who realizes that after a long night at the library, you need a Paris Hilton's BFF marathon.

...that nachos are the answer to everything.

...that nothing is better than a sunny day and a BBQ at the fraternity house. Unless the BBQ happens on the roof so you can lay in the sun and watch the people below you. 

...that sometimes a sign of a best-friendship is when they trust you to make their snack pack for night class. Or when you think you just need a 'night in,' but they know that what you really need is for them to jump on you in bed, wake you up and force you out for a night of air hockey, drinking games and frozen pizza.

...that there is something to be learned from everyone. 

...that you can't force a relationship. 

...that sometimes caring isn't being there the most, or the best...but just consistently and honestly (Thanks, Big). 

...to give what you have, when you can, where you are.

...that being a hot mess is completely okay. One of my favorite quotes that my grand little ever said to me was this: "I remember when I met you, and I thought that you were this big, classy senior who had her shit together. Then I got to know you, and what a hot mess you are. And now I like you even better."

...that just when you feel like giving up, you should keep going.

One, Two, Three words, love them until I die.
One, Two, Three words, Pi Beta Phi.

Monogamous Mono Man

Since I'm still rolling high on my re-found love for Christoph Waltz's gorgeously chiseled cheek bones, perfect smile and unfairly gorgeous accent, I'm re-posting one of my favorite posts from my old blog on here in honor of Christoph Waltz (AKA his doppleganger).

Today, I’d like to offer up a little tribute to the Monogamous Mono Man. And for all you girls who have had the misfortune of dating a MMM, I offer my sympathetic condolences.

What is a MMM, you might ask? Well, just like it sounds, it’s a man afflicted by mono who insists that you and he are in a monogamous relationship. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that if he got mono while being “monogamous” with your mono-free self, at least one of those adjectives is false. And it’s not the mono one…

I once had the fortune of dating an MMM, and I have to say, it was fairly entertaining. My friend and I (the same one who told me I was just embarrassing enough to make everyone feel comfortable, without being embarrassing enough to be an actual embarrassment to know) had a true love for mocking MMM relentlessly. In our all-night-research-paper-writing haze, we thought of what Monogamous Mono Man might say, if given the chance. And thus was the born the ideas for what MMM might say if he had a twitter:

@monmonoman: I’m your worst nightmare. You must be faithful to me, but you can’t kiss me.

@monmonoman: The only thing that lasts longer than a game of monopoly: #mono.

@monmonoman: Want to make sure your ex will never forget you? Don’t be cliché, give them #mono today!

@monmonoman: When holocaust literature isn’t enough: #mono (*side note: at the same time I was dating MMM, I was also taking a French Literature World War 2 class where all we did was read books about the Holocaust…in French. There are few things worse than reading a french book and being like “ooh, that word sounds pretty…what does it mean? Oh…charbroiled human flesh. Nevermind.”)

@monmonoman: Because nothing says “I’m totally serious about being monogamous with you, baby,” like my sudden onset of #mono

@monmonoman: Every day I ask myself, what’s the difference between a monogamous mono man and a gay best friend? (*No but really, what is the difference? You can’t kiss them, but they’re great for watching a movie with and using as dates in a pinch.)

Here’s to you, Monogamous Mono Man, for freeing us to be in monogamous relationships where we can wear sweatpants, no makeup, and oversized t-shirts to movie nights because we are 100% certain we will never end up making out. XOXO…wait, no.

Laters, baby.

P.S. Don’t forget to check out where MMM fits into “The 5 Assholes You’ll Date In College.” 

***Don't forget! My first ever link up starts TOMORROW! In honor of International Badge Day, join us in celebrating your sorority experience! Submissions accepted all week long =)

20/20

Hindsight is 20/20. Raise your hand if you've heard it. Keep your hand up if you've heard it as a semi-negative thing. People always say it with a tinge of sadness or regret. A "if I had known..."

But hindsight doesn't just come for choice. It comes for memories and relationships too. I remember in one of my many can't-take-this-small-school-anymore-hate-it-will-never-have-any-friends-after-graduation moments, my Big told me, "Don't you worry. Once you graduate, you'll only remember the good parts."And it's true. I don't remember all the times I wanted to tell my 35 other housemates to simply shut.up. (now!), or grow up or stand up or stop gossiping or any of the other multiple things that drove me insane. I don't remember how often I hated living on a campus of 1400 students, where anyone and everyone knew your business, down to the shirt you were last Friday and the boy you brought to Formal. I find hindsight washing over me like a sweet, cleansing rain and all I remember is the good conversation, the good friends and the good times. I remember laughing till my cheeks hurt in the Fraternity house--not how awful the deuschbag sitting next to me was.

I guess what I'm getting at is this...maybe hindsight isn't a passive-aggressive way of life getting back at us. Maybe hindsight is a protection device. A kind, friendly blanket who, once we've learned our lessons, covers the dirty and the gross and the bad and the uncomfortable with a big furry blanket and says "it's OK." Because what good would it do to remember all the annoyances and all the bad? What would it serve us?

Maybe hindsight is the cousin to regret. When you haven't learned your lesson and you haven't confronted what should be, you get regret. But when you have learned your lesson and done what needs to be done, you get hindsight. If the lesson is imprinted on your heart, why keep the memory imprinted on your brain?

What do you think? Hindsight--negative or positive?

(My sassy side will be back tomorrow. But for now, I needed to type this.)