How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

The Internet: Not Just a Tool for Procrastination Anymore

I know there has been a lot of Woe. Misery. Despair. around here lately.  You, Internet, have been great with all of your comments and good wishes.  In fact, I have been surprised overall at how this whole "sharing my life with the Internet" thing has been such an overwhelmingly positive experience over the past few years.

One of the most surprising parts for me has been the friendships I have made with other blog people who I've never met in real life.  They are people I have genuinely celebrated with and been sad and concerned for and also mailed photos of myself wearing baby bibs and hats in the aisles of Target under the guise of "congratulations on your pregnancy care package".

The lucky recipient of those rather disturbing photos (also featuring Melissa) was my blog friend Emily of Not That You Asked.  Now Emily is asking for our help on behalf of her real life friends, who are facing something so difficult that I cannot even fathom it.  Their little girl has cancer.  As terrible as that would be all on its own, there are extenuating circumstances that make it financially difficult as well.

You all have been so incredibly kind to me that I wanted to at least pass this along and give you the opportunity to help out.  You can follow the link here to read the story, leave a comment and/or make a donation on Emily's blog.

Thanks, Internet.  And fair warning: perspective gained on the relative smallness of my current problems notwithstanding, it doesn't look good for things to get chipper around here anytime soon.  Then again, if you were looking for chipper, what would you be doing here?

Gee, Lori, tell us how you really feel about Tyra.

Actual conversation overheard in my office:

Co-worker 1: He lives in Dodgeville, but he always comes down for WaunaFest because he says the most beautiful women in the world are in Waunakee.

Co-worker 2: The most beautiful women in the world?  He must not get out much.

Co-worker 1: Well.  He lives in Dodgeville.

In Waunakee's defense, there was a girl from there on America's Next Top Model this season (excuse me, cycle.)  However, she was sent home for being too immature and full of herself. 

Let's pause and appreciate that for a moment.  Tyra Banks thought this girl was too full of herself.  Tyra, who had a doctor feel her breasts on national television in order to convince us all that they are real, because she KNEW that we had all been thinking they were fake.  Perhaps I am not representative of everyone, but I would like Tyra to be aware that I had never before invested one moment of thought into the chemical make-up of her breasts.

Anyway, I present this information as a public service to single men the world over.  If you're looking for beautiful women (who may or may not be even more egotistical than an actual supermodel) WaunaFest might just be the place for you.  And ladies, if you're looking for a man, you may want to hit up Dodgeville.  I hear they're hard up for pretty girls.

I think my work here is done.

They have tiny little fingers for picking my lock and they're already wearing masks. Think about it.

Did you ever read Bridget Jones's Diary?  Do you remember how she was afraid that she would die alone in her apartment and no one would know and she'd be found three weeks later, half-eaten by wild dogs?

Well.  I was telling Katie yesterday about how I had started hyperventilating the other night, causing me to flash back to that, thinking, "That could be me.  No one would know!  They might be surprised that I didn't show up for work and didn't call, but it would be quite some time before anyone figured it out.  I could be eaten by wild dogs!"  Well, ok, there aren't a lot of wild dogs in my neighborhood, but there are curiously large raccoons.  Sure, I've only ever seen them getting into the trash outside, but maybe our garbage just tides them over until they get another opportunity to feast on human flesh.  WHO'S TO SAY?

Katie assured me that she would realize that something was wrong when I hadn't Twittered in a while, hopefully before the raccoon bears got to me.  She did think she might have a hard time convincing the Madison police to break into my apartment based solely on lack of microblogging.  I think she might be right there.  "But she hasn't complained to the internet about the weather in two whole days!" probably wouldn't get her too far with law enforcement types.

It does mean that I better not slack on my posting, doesn't it?  I'd hate to incite rumors of my untimely death just because I wasn't sure you wanted to hear about what I ate for breakfast or the status of my leg hair.  Fortunately, I don't generally let such concerns about inanity stop me.  From now on, you can just think to yourself, "Well that was pointless, but I guess she definitely hasn't been eaten by mutant raccoons yet."

If you don't hear from me for several days, you can consider that my official "I've fallen and I can't reach my computer to tell the internet so that they may enjoy a laugh at my expense" cry for help.  And if my trash is tipped over and all of my shiny objects missing, I think we'll all know who's to blame.

The least original post idea ever. You were warned.

I am enjoying this thing where I write almost nothing and yet get a bunch of comments to entertain me through my long and boring day of data entry.  And then I heard something on the radio yesterday that made me think "I can write almost nothing on that topic and then get a bunch of comments to entertain me." 

They were talking about the whole stripper name thing, which I'm sure you already know all about because everyone does and it's been around forever, except the radio people were getting it ALL WRONG.  So while we will copy their idea here, we will be correct about it.

First, the DJ's said that your stripper name was the first street where you lived, followed by the name of your first pet.  Which is, of course, backward.  It's the pet name followed by the street name.  Right?

Then the girl who does the news said she thought it was your middle name followed by the street name.  But no, news girl, that is your soap opera character name.  I can't believe they let you do the news with the kind of inaccurate information you spread all over the central Wisconsin and state-line listening area.

So here we have a Pop Quiz that requires so little actual thought that everybody can participate.  We will just tell each other our stripper names and soap opera names.  And Star Wars names!  See, because I heard once that your Star Wars name is the first syllable of your first name followed by the model of your car.  And the planet you're from is the name of the last medicine you took.

To recap, all you have to do is:

Stripper name = Name of your first pet + Street name where you first lived

Soap opera name = Your middle name + Let's go with the second street you lived on, just to mix it up

Star Wars = First syllable of your first name + Model of your car from the planet last medicine you took (Use your discretion here, folks.  If it will tell us more than we want to know about you, go with a different one.)

I'll start:

Stripper: Ginger Myra

Soap Opera: Anne Prairie

Star Wars: Lor Focus from the planet Zyrtec

Alright, folks, it's an All Play and the skill level has been set to Easy.  Let's hear 'em.

Because apparently I don't think you'll believe that I ever leave my house unless I prove it with photos

Spring break in Chicago.  Not so good for tanning, but at least you're safe from Joe Francis there.  We did go wild by forgoing hats and mittens for parts of Saturday when it was sunny and not snowing.  Friday, not so much.

What you see there is the reason we went ahead and spent most of Friday inside the Field Museum.  Here we have Holly and Sue, the T-Rex.

Later on, we met Jennie for Chicago style pizza.

Good planning when spending winter spring break in Chicago: pick a hotel with four bars inside so you can get your drink on without braving the elements.  We started with Daddy O's Irish Pub for the requisite Irish Car Bombs, then moved on to BIG Bar.  Guess what their gimmick is. 

They serve 48 ounce drinks that people can share.  Except no one told the three geeky boys at the table next to us that three boys attempting to flirt with girls should not share one BIG drink.  Spring for your own drinks, boys.  Probably it's better too if they are not so brightly-colored.  Smarter (if not entirely convincing) was the guy drinking his own individual beer who pretended to think that Holly and I were around 22 years old.  Bless you, strange man, even if you do intend to cast a symbolic vote for Ron Paul in the general election.

After sleeping in, we spent most of Saturday shopping on Michigan Avenue (total purchases: lunch) and seeing Navy Pier.

Although if we're being perfectly honest here, we also spent some of Saturday watching a National Geographic special about the difference between humans and apes on the giant flat-screen TV in our hotel room.  What?  It was cold outside and according to Holly's pedometer we had already walked about thirteen miles over the weekend.  Except for a brief trip down the street for dinner, we were finished with the walking and the seeing sights and the generally doing things that were not laying on our beds in a nice warm room.

The next morning, Holly got up at the crack of dawn to fly back to San Antonio.  In flagrant violation of Illinois state law, her flight left O'Hare on time.  Much later, I got up and caught the bus back to Madison.  Unfortunately, reality was still here, awaiting my return.  But at least Friday's snow had melted off the streets and parking lots.  Snow which, according to my radio this morning, put Madison's total this winter over 100 inches, for those of you playing along at home.

Ok, everybody say "Thanks, Holly!" for having a functional camera and getting her photos to me so speedily for your viewing pleasure.  And by "for your viewing pleasure" I of course mean "so I don't have to write a real post."  Thanks, Holly! 

Reinforcements!

This time tomorrow, I'll be on a bus headed for Chicago to meet up with Former San Antonio Roommate Holly.  (You remember Holly.)  She had been thinking of coming up here for the end of her spring break (Madison: The Spring Break Destination of...No One, Really.) but discovered that for the same price as a ticket here, you can get a ticket to Chicago and what appears to be a rather swanky hotel room downtown.  This way, we both get a change of scenery and yet I don't have to buy any plane tickets. 

Holly has never before been to Chicago, so we'll get to do some of the tourist stuff.  I think the last time I went to a museum in Chicago, it was a field trip and I was in middle school.  We'll also get to hang out with Jennie (you remember Jennie) and eat pizza (keep your fingers crossed for the imminent return of my appetite) and try to convince Holly that sunny and mid- to upper-30's is nice weather.

In case you're still not convinced that a visit from Holly is exactly what I need right now, please recall that Holly was the co-creator of Drinks Around the World!  I cannot imagine a city with more ethnic drinking opportunities than Chicago.  In fact, the one and only actual plan I have made is locating the pub where we will be throwing back our Irish car bombs.  Priorities.

And now I have an assignment for you, Internet.  I'm going to be spending roughly six hours round-trip on the bus for this excursion.  One thing that I meant to mention in that last post but didn't was the new challenge that music presents these days.  Love songs and break up songs are obviously out of the question.  Songs that are too sad depress me.  Songs that are too happy piss me off.  The radio will usually get you some odd stuff like Sunny Came Home (am currently neutral on the topic of arson) and Bette Davis Eyes (I have no idea what that song is even about, so I guess it's fine by me) but my iPod is sadly lacking in songs I want to listen to these days.  So, Internet, make me a playlist.  What should I get?

Life Lessons: Not for Sissies

I think with all experiences in life, and especially the bad or hard ones, you have a responsibility to do two things with them: learn something and (if you're me) find some blog material.  So I thought I'd go ahead and share what I've learned in the past week.  Well, you know, the more superficial things that I'm willing to share with the internet anyway.  Here we go.

Crying, if you do it regularly (and I mean if you really go to it - none of this pansy-ass softly weeping business) will:

• Provide a good ab workout.  Really saves time on doing sit-ups.  (See what I did there, making it sound like I normally do sit-ups?)
• Dehydrate you.  Although this could have something to do with reduced food intake too.  Food has a lot of water in it, doesn't it?  Some kinds of food?
• Clear your sinuses, for a little while.
• Dry the hell out of your face.  You've got to rinse, which frankly is not always convenient.  Like when you're at work and think you're going to throw up and instead immediately burst into tears upon entering a stall.  And you're not friends with your co-workers but if they see you washing your face in the bathroom or running around without make up they might ask what's going on and you do not need that.
• In the case of an anticipated or unanticipated work restroom cry, bring you closer to your co-workers, by proximity only.  Because it makes absolutely no difference which stall you choose, even if the whole place is empty, the very next person to come in will without fail choose the stall directly next to you.  WTF, ladies?

When they don't know what to say, everybody seems to default to suggesting that you eat a lot of ice cream.  While this is certainly better than any mention of looking on the bright side, it is not so helpful to me.  I can't speak for anyone else, but a week later I am still not even finding food appealing, much less comforting.  I was unable as my entire dinner one night last week to finish an order of Culver's fries.  And we all know how I normally feel about those.

You shouldn't let the dishes pile up.  Let's say they've been stacking up all week and you think to yourself "I'll do them on Sunday."  Then your Saturday night goes horribly awry.  You don't really feel like eating all week, so you don't go near the sink full of dishes.  When you finally do them a week later, you may find some mold at the bottom of the pile.  And then you may tell the internet about your disgusting lack of basic housekeeping standards.

A week of not sleeping well + Woodchuck Cider + 2 Benadryl = one hell of a night's sleep.

My inner toddler is not so far from the surface as I might like to think.  Because not only is there the whole break up thing, but also the thing about whether to stay here or move somewhere and if I move where to move and when I get there/stay here, what do I want to do?  Which has caused me at times to all but throw myself on the floor and shout I DON'T WANT TO! and then hold my breath until I turned blue.  I don't want things to change.  I'd like everything to go back to how it was a little over a week ago, please, when all I had to think about was what I wanted to do.  That question alone was enough for me.  This is too much.  NO FAIR.  DO NOT WANT.

The random internet boys who stopped the "where do u live?" emails when you announced that you were dating someone do not, upon your announcement that you're no longer in a relationship, start up again immediately.  Thanks, boys.  Keep it up.

I even learned a couple of non-break-up-related things this week:

The Zune does exist.  Really, I saw one!  Now I fully expect to run into a unicorn or leprechaun at any moment.

You can get to my blog by googling this: i put liquid laxative in the milk today, if you want the cure go to the rock show next weekend.

One thing I'll tell you of actual importance that I learned is that having a really good friendship with the person I date is very important to me.  But when you have that and you lose it, suddenly you've lost your boyfriend and one of your best friends all at once and that, in a word, sucks.

I already knew that I had some incredibly supportive people in my life and thank God, because most of all I've learned that this is so much harder than I could ever have imagined.

Talk Amongst Yourselves

Thanks everybody for all of the nice comments.  I especially appreciate how you completely avoided any mention of pots, lids, fish, the sea, or frogs to be kissed.

I've still really got nothing for you.  So how about if you all get to know each other better while simultaneously entertaining me?  Yes, let's do that.

Please answer any or all:

1. What is the worst job you ever had?

2. What, if any, exercise equipment do you own that you never use?

3. Briefly describe the contents of your fridge.

4. Read any good books lately?

Distract me, Internet.  I'm begging you.

Oh, and say Happy Birthday to Amy while you're at it.

You can't make your heart feel something it won't

On New Year's Eve, somehow we got to talking about Bonnie Raitt.  I told him that I thought I Can't Make You Love Me was one of the saddest songs ever. 

I did not realize at the time that it would be foreshadowing.

The time has come for us to face it.

He doesn't.

I can't make him.

And as hard as it is and as much as it hurts us both, that has to be the end of us.

There is no villain here.  Part of me thinks that it would be easier if I had cause to be angry, but in reality, being angry would just put off being sad for a while.  Most of me knows that it's better this way.  Better that I can look back without regrets at what was, except for this one thing, a very good relationship with a very good man.

But it also makes it that much harder, not being with him anymore. If I could hate him, then maybe I wouldn't miss him so much.

Above zero and not snowing, captured on film

Melissa asked me to take some pictures of the snow.  For the record, Alan opposed this idea on the grounds that taking pictures of the snow would only embolden it.  Ever the obedient girlfriend I...Ha!  I can't even finish that sentence.

On to photos.  Remember this bench?

Now you can snowshoe past it.

Don't have your snowshoes?  Here's a nice bench on the Capitol Square.  Care to sit and have a chat?

Or we could go on in to the Capitol.

Let's take the stairs.  Careful now.

Watch out for icicles.

Oh, and if you absolutely must get a new haircut in the dead of winter, at least ask your stylist to leave enough length to cover your neck.

And maybe give the red line from your glasses a few minutes to go away before photographing yourself for the internet.  Amateur.

And now I'm a little concerned about the Google hits I'm going to get for Amateur photographing yourself for the internet.  Welcome, gentlemen.  This is not what you were looking for.

The End of an Era

It's going to be strange next year, watching the Packers play without  Brett Favre.  It's not something I have ever experienced as an adult, nor do I especially care to.  But it was a whole lot of fun while it lasted, wasn't it?

Thanks for the memories, Brett.

*And thanks to all of you for your kind comments and emails on that last post.  I wasn't at all sure how that one was going to go over.  I appreciate that you're supportive, but also that you can disagree with me respectfully.  Golly, Internet, you're the best.

Confessional

Some people are going to judge me harshly for what I'm about to write.  I understand this because time was I would have done the same.

Some of you are probably going to feel sad for me or concerned.  I appreciate that, I really do, and I'm sorry that I'm going to make you sad or worried.  I'm sorry too if this makes any of you feel like I'm not who you thought I was.  But I can't not write things because of how people might react.  Especially this.

I think it's time to talk about why I don't go to church anymore.

I think this in large part because I feel like I should help the people in my life understand it and I haven't done a very good job with that.  In order to do that, I need to get a better understanding of it myself and writing about things has always helped me work out what I think about them.

I've gone to church all my life.  Always.  I grew up in church.  I went in college.  Every place I moved I did the church shopping bit until I found one to go to every week.  When I was working seven days a week in DC, I went to church.  Tired and sick and even occasionally hung over, I went.

And not just church either.  I did youth group.  Small groups.  Singles group.  InterVarsity Christian Fellowship in college, where I was on the worship team, led Bible studies, and was the administrator.  I was a youth leader in Virginia and Texas.  At times my life has revolved around whatever church or religious group I was involved in.  It wasn't just my religious life, but my social life too.  It was my free time and my community service.

I won't say that I regret it.  For one thing, I try my very best not to let regret seep in.  I am where and who I am today because of the experiences I've had and I wouldn't change it.  Also, I have met some of the very best people I know through church and religious groups.  They have been and are dear friends of mine, people I respect and love.

But none of that explains why I left. 

It wasn't an abrupt decision.  It happened over time.  I just had a hard time listening to it after a while.  It all started to sound more and more ridiculous to me.  Unbelievable, preposterous nonsense.

So there was this faith that I had, that I had almost always had, and now I couldn't listen to anyone talk about it.   They weren't saying anything that I hadn't been hearing for years, but now something was different.  Something in me.  And I felt like if I didn't get away from the voices, I'd lose it all together.  What faith I had, I mean.  I didn't really know how or when it started, but I knew some things were going to have to change.

I realized that I had spent so many years trying to live up to something impossible and beating myself up for not ever being good enough.  I don't think that's a good thing.  I don't think anything positive ever came out of living that way.  There's being aware of your shortcomings so you can improve yourself and then there is berating yourself and allowing yourself to be berated by others about the extent of your own inadequacy.  It's not constructive and it's no way to live.

I don't think it's the intent of faith or church, but it has been what I let it become.  I have listened to good people explaining how they, how all of us are human scum and I have nodded along with everyone else in the room.  I have written very earnestly about my endless failings as a Christian.  Never patient enough, trusting enough, content enough.  On and on it goes in those spiral notebooks full of my handwriting.

I don't want to do it anymore.  I want to live my life.  To try my best to be a good person, love my neighbor, give as I am able to help those in need, make responsible choices in how I live and who I choose to run my community, state, and nation.  To be a good daughter, sister, aunt, friend, and girlfriend.  To work hard at something that matters.   I want to do what I can do, be the most loving and generous person I can, and let myself off the hook for the rest of it.

And I want and need some time to figure out what I believe.  I can't do that by throwing myself back into an environment of being told what is and isn't true.  I want to take a break from all of it to catch my breath and clear my mind.  Then I want to do some thinking and studying for myself.  What happens from there, I'm not sure.  But I know I can't go back to some of where I have been.  I won't let myself.

Because it wasn't easy to get here.  It would be easy to say that getting to this point is something that happened to me, but it wasn't.  It was a choice that I made.  A series of choices, really.  And each time I chose to let go of some certainty that I had held, I was giving up a part of who I had become.  None of it was done lightly.

It's far easier, I find, to give yourself over to absolutes and stick your fingers in your ears and shout LA LA LA than to acknowledge the questions and shades of gray.  But I started to see the gray and there's no unseeing it now.  It seems to me that if God had wanted faith to be in terms of black and white, we wouldn't have scripture in poetry and parables.  We can't remove the mystery from it by declaring that we know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what each bit and piece means.  Why would we want to?

I'm not saying that I won't ever go back to church.  Just that right now and for the immediate future, this is what I need.  Some quiet.  Some time away from all of the voices to just spend alone with the questions and the possibilities.

I don't think I can explain it any better than that.  That's about as far as I understand it myself.  It's a strange place to be, after a whole lifetime of being so certain that I had all of the answers.  But as disorienting as it can be, it also feels right.  For now, anyway.  Where it leads, we'll have to wait and see.