30 Days of Blogging, Day 17:Top 5...TV Shows

Hey you there. 

Who? Meh?

Yeah, you! The guy who brags that he hasn't had a television in ten years because he likes to "read" "books".

I like to consider myself "literate".

Guess what? This post is not for you.

This is a dedication to the one who raised me. 

The one who lit up imagination.

Who babysat me after school.

Who kept me company on those lonely Friday nights...and Saturday nights...and well, all the nights.

You taught me history and current events, that there's no such thing as too much of a good Shonda, the length of the Korean war isn't relevant as long as it's funny, friendship really is magic, and it's okay to sleep with whoever you want to as long as you're on a break--just make sure the other person knows you're on a break.

This was the hardest list to put together. If I had two hypothetical children, I'd probably have an easier time picking which one to sell to the circus than I did putting this list together.

Chloe, you are going to be SUCH a great juggler! Send me Snapchats, 'k?

Here we go...my top 5 favorite TV shows...

#5: America's Got Talent

I hit the buzzer for Heidi all..the...time.

A nationwide talent show. It's more than a karaoke singing competition--it's inviting regular people to come on down and shine a light on whatever out of the box talent they have been hiding under a bushel. 

There are few television shows where I have ugly-face cried as hard as I have when I watched a juggler's dream coming true after his brother who taught him how to juggle as a young boy freaking died before his audition. 

Yes the judge skits are cheesy, and Pierce Morgan literally had no business whatsoever discerning who does or doesn't have talent, but the heart of the show is what makes me watch every summer.

From watching Landau Eugene Murphy, Jr. go from car washer to million-dollar winning crooner, or Michael Grimm crushing the dreams of an adorable little blonde girl (deservedly so), how can you not roll a tear when you see someone's lifelong dream come to fruition?

Favorite Moment

Gut. Punching. Talent.

#4: The Cosby Show

Rudy seems to be the only one who knows what's up...

Okay, I know--you don't have to tell me. It's a controversial choice, but--it was my childhood dream to be a member of the Huxtables. 

Before you point out that I am as white as the inside of a TaunTaun, I know that the Huxtables are an African American family. I loved them because they were fun but real. The kids made stupid mistakes and their parents were able to set them straight without shaming them, raising their voices, or hitting them. Cliff was an idiot but also a beloved doctor. Claire...you guys--Claire.

I wanted Claire to be my mom so badly. She adored her kids but also loved her career and life outside her home. She was the moral center and rock of the show and looked so good while doing it. She didn't resent motherhood and didn't resent working hard. Claire Huxtable is one of the most well-written women in television history. 

Also, who didn't want to be a member of the Huxtables when they lip-synched Night Time is the Right Time?

Favorite Moment

The night time is definitely not the right time for you Bill. Day light meetings with witnesses only please.

#3: Game of Thrones

Okay, I know this isn't from the show, but I've never felt so right.

I'll admit, I almost gave up on this one after the very first episode. My knee-jerk opinion was that whoever wrote these books must fucking hate women. It struck me as a little too--rapey?

Gradually over time sisters starting doing it for themselves. You got the Khaleesi with her freaking dragons crossing the sea, the Girl With No Name who has a name again, the new Queen of Winterfell, and the terrifying new Queen of King's Landing. 

Oh, uh--spoiler alert. 

Aside from the obvious drawing you in and making you love a character only to have them killed off in a manner too brutal for Buffalo Bill, the return of badassery every year has me tingling with excitement. 

Valar morgulis mothereffers.

Favorite Scene

Valar dohaeris too you guys--valar dohaeris!

#2: The Thick of It

Before he was The Doctor, he was terrifying.

You have never heard of this show. Please, please, please rectify this. If you love Veep, then you'll love this even more. The whole series is on Hulu--you have no excuse.

What Veep lacks in characters that are horrible people who remain unlikable, Thick of It has characters that are horrible people that you can't help but love.

One of the greatest characters--of all time and on the show--is Malcolm Tucker, played by actual Oscar winner and current The Doctor, Peter Capaldi. Modeled after Alastair Campbell, who is the British version of Karl Rove or Rahm Emmanuel. He's the enforcer of the Prime Minister who terrifies cabinet ministers into walking the party line, and he does it with foaming at the mouth gusto.

Even better is that they cuss and insult each other with the eloquence of Shakespeare, so I'll stop gushing and I'll let you just soak in some of my favorite quotes:

"He's so useless--he's absolutely useless--he's as useless as a marzipan dildo!"

"When I want your advice I'll give you the signal--which is me getting sectioned under the Mental Health Act."

"I will tear your fucking skin off, I will wear it to your mother's birthday party, and rub your nuts up and down her leg whilst whistling Bohemian-fucking-Rhapsody. Right?"

"That guy is an epic fuck-up. He's so dense that light bends around him."

And my favorite that--if I were a meaner person--I'd love to say to another person as a means of getting out of a conversation:

"I'd love to stop and chat with you but I'd rather have type 2 diabetes."

Favorite Moment

#SquadGoals

#1: 30 Rock

#OtherSquadGoals. I can have more than one squad.

Liz Lemon. Tracy Jordan. Jack Donaghy. Jenna Mulroney. Kenneth the Page. 

I have lost count of how many times I have re-watched this show from start to end. After awhile it became part of my bedtime routine--I would fall asleep watching 30 Rock and dream of strip club karaoke with Tracey. 

I can't begin to describe all the reasons why I love this show in a short blog post. 

In short, it's one of the greatest ensemble comedy casts of all time--on par with M*A*S*H, Cheers, and the highly underrated Arrested Development. 

It also contains all the answers to life.

How was that party? "Purr-fect--like a cat birthday!"

Someone getting you down? "High-fiving a million angels!"

Should you do the dishes? "I would love to do the dishes, but I'm in character, and if you make me do the dishes I WILL KILL MYSELF!!!"

Cramps got you down? "All women menstruating go home immediately!"

Need to get everyone's attention? "Listen up fives--a ten is talking."

Should I get a professional haircut? "D'Fwan--glue in my business weave."

Should I catch up on sleep on the plane? "I don't sleep on planes--I don't want to get incepted."

Is it time for rehearsal? "I'm not going to rehearse. I'm going to get a sandwich and then eat it on the toilet."

Is Global Warming really a problem? "There was a cyclone in Brooklyn last year--it destroyed two t-shirt shops and a banjo."

Is the audience unsatisfied with my performance? "Your boos are not scaring me! I know most of you are not ghosts!"

Do you want to go there? "I want to go to there."

Are you so frustrated there are no words to describe how you feel? "BLERGH!"

And so on...

Favorite Moment

See Day 7.

Hit me in the comments! What's your top five?

30 Days of Blogging, Day 16: Top 5...Musicians

Years ago if you asked me who my top five favorite musicians or bands are, I would answer before you finished asking the question. If you asked me now, after living in the Pacific Northwest where if you didn't like someone first, you're a pleb--actually I don't think I've heard anyone use the word pleb here. Maybe the best terminology is "basic bitch"?

Whatever.

This basic bitch loves musicians and bands that lots of other people love too. They're popular for a reason people.What are you doing with your life?! Don't judge me!

Grab a pumpkin spice latte, put on your shades that you bought from Urban Outfitters at the local mall, and let's go to Sam Goody you betches!

Haaaay betches! I'm made with skim milk!

#5: Adele

I could rest my pumpkin spice latte in that gorgeous chin-dimple.

Just...come on you guys. I have two ears and a heart, don't I?

She sings all of my feelings. If you have had your heart broken by some soulless monster with gorgeous eyes and big boobs and you didn't sob uncontrollably while listening to Someone Like You while stuffing Cheetos in your face, you literally have no heart. You're probably my ex.

Favorite Song:

Just fucking sing.

#4: Coldplay

B.G.--Before Goop.

A hipster douche-bag once asked me who is in my top five. He made fun of me for liking Coldplay. 

His favorite band is Oingo Boingo. 

Fuck that guy. 

I love all of their albums, in order of release. Parachutes is far and away my favorite rainy Sunday album.

I saw them second row with my best friend at Red Rocks. Their poetic lyrics, iridescent sound, and light show that ricocheted off the rock formations was dazzling. 

Favorite Song:

  

Lullaby melody and lyrics that speak to my heart? Sign me up please.

Again, before Goop.

#3: Guster

Bringing back little-boy striped polo shirts before it was cool

I fell in love with Guster when I saw them open for my number two favorite artist. To watch them play music live is to watch someone experience joy doing what they love. 

My friend and I resolved to see them every single time they came to Denver, and we did--I also have not seen them since I left Denver because I cannot possibly imagine seeing them without her. 

I have two Guster t-shirts. Their t-shirt game is en pointe.

Their music? Joyful, thoughtful, emotional, cheeky. Even if their songs become melancholy they bring it right back around with a hidden song that they clearly improvised and cracked up while recording it.

Their drummer is my favorite drummer. Which of you Oingo Boingo loving bastards have a favorite drummer? 

They re-recorded their album Keep it Together and replaced the lyrics with simulated meows. Meows people!!!

Give joy a chance. Listen to Guster. Guster is for lovers.

Favorite Song:

This should be the first thing you listen to every single morning.

#2: John Mayer

John Mayer with some groupies he met backstage at Red Rocks. 

His life was never the same.

Before Jennifer Aniston--before Katie Perry--before that idiotic Playboy interview--I found out John Mayer was playing Red Rocks for the first time in his career. 

I saw him with my friend Casey three times already, but never at Red Rocks. I knew his shows would sell out, so to be proactive I joined his online fan club that would allow me first access to tickets. 

For $25 I got a tiny poster, a key-chain, and dibs on tickets. 

Two days before his show I got an email from his tour manager stating that as a member of his fan club I was automatically entered into a contest to meet John Mayer with one friend before his show at Red Rocks.

This excited me.

I assumed we would get a little meet and greet with dozens of his fans--maybe a picture and a handshake. His manager escorted us backstage where we stood alone.A couple other girls came and stood next to us. That was it. 

His manager introduced him to the girls; they worked with his brother Ben at Qwest. 

He came to us. I literally cannot remember a single word we exchanged. Knowing Casey she was cool. Knowing me I probably stuttered and said something odd and inappropriate. His manager said he had to be on in five minutes and he hugged us goodbye--and not a limp fish celebrity hug--our chests touched. He smelled great. 

Just as he was about to disappear I looked at the camera in my hand and sadly said to Casey that I forgot to ask for a picture. He stopped and asked, "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry guys, did you want a picture?" He was sorry. 

Look at that picture. Look at the joy on those faces. 

I love his music too.

Favorite Song:

This came out 2 years after I dropped out of high school. It spoke to me.

#1: U2

B.G.--Before Glasses.

The first time I saw U2 in concert it was such a spiritually moving experience I wrote an eight page review of the show and posted it on their fan tour website. Fifteen years later it can be read HERE. Nothing else could possibly illustrate my love for U2 more than this long gush-fest of love.

Seeing U2 live is going to church and having a spiritual awakening. 

Casey and I would show up to the general admission line early in the morning so we could get as close as Bono as possible every time we saw them.

We argued when he looked at me--she thought he looked her--he looked at me. It was during In a Little While, right at the moment he sang ...Spanish eyes...

You know it's true Casey!

I have every single album on CD. No digital downloads. 

I have bootlegs. 

I have vinyl. 

Joshua Tree was the first album I ever loved. 

Where the Streets Have No Name still makes me cry. 

The first time I listened to Beautiful Day I decided to change my life.

Seeing them live with my best friend are my most cherished memories. 

U2 everybody.

Favorite Song:

I HAVE DREAMS!

I WANT TO START AN ARTIST'S COLONY IN THE DESERT!

Your turn! Hit me in the comments. This is a no judging zone. Even if you love Oingo Boingo.

30 Days of Blogging, Day 15: Top 5...Movies

I was challenged to do a series of my favorite movies, musicians, etc. The opinions of this blog writer do not reflect the opinions of her cat. 

Movies, am I right? They have people in them. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't talk. Sometimes they run, sometimes they don't move at all. Sometimes it's just a couple people in a room, sometimes a traveling brotherhood of representatives of varying fantasy-based races fighting against the forces of evil to destroy the One Ring.

Movies, right?

It wasn't terribly hard to pick my top three--those never change. Four and five were harder to commit to. I even considered being very lazy and just making this a top three list, but a challenge isn't a challenge if it's easy.

#firstworldproblems

Here we go gang! Drum roll please?

Who's da best widdle drummer in da world??

My top five favorite movies:

#5: Bridget Jones's Diary

I think we're all thinking the same thing here: devil's three-wayy. AmIright?

Bridget Jones: the Godfather of romantic comedies, except the sequel is not nearly as good as the first. The third...remains to be seen. 

I recall seeing the trailer for Bridget Jones... and I knew I was going to love it. When I saw it, I loved it even more than I thought I would. Like a lot of young women I think I saw a lot of myself in the heroine of the movie: dead end job, smokes too much, drinks too much, no partner, disapproving mother, and an under-appreciated full bottom. 

All the way from her serenading her answering machine with no messages to go out on a Friday night to pratfall after pratfall, I saw little bits of myself. When she pulled herself up by her stiff, British, upper-lip after being brutally dumped and she took control of her life and changed her story, she spoke to me. 

It's it silly to take life advice from an early 2000's romantic comedy? Maybe. So what? I've seen grown men cry like children when their football team loses. Shut-up. 

Favorite Scene:

Who doesn't want someone to love them just as they are? Wobbly bits and all.

#4: Waking Ned Devine

DRINK! (If you've never watched Father Ted you haven't lived)

I imagine this one is a little out of left field. Anyone I bring this movie up to has never really heard of it, but it had to go on the list. I watch it once a year with some rich food and a giant bottle of Scotch ale. 

I know it's Scotch but I hate Guinness--let's stay on track here.

Two life long friends find the winning lottery ticket of their recently deceased friend. Their tiny little Irish town is brought in to the fold and the varying characters with their own fascinating stories help make the dream come true. They are all darling and lovely and keep the story moving in their charming, small-town Irish way. There's also an abundance of old man tush. 

The overall theme of commitment and friendship touches my heart every single time I watch it, and as the final scene swells with The Parting Glass, I can't help but cry and pray I have friends I can grow old with. 

Favorite Scene:

Just...come on. Don't tell me you don't think this is all they do in Ireland--

standing on green hillsides and toasting their friends.

#3: Almost Famous

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes...

I defy anyone who says they didn't watch Almost Famous and want to jump in a time machine and be a rock journalist in the seventies. 

There is little not to love about Almost Famous. The changing music scene of the 70's, women feeling empowered to do what they want with their bodies, the ensemble of protagonists with their own angels and demons. Nobody is perfect, and nobody is bad--they all just fucking love music--because music is to bond. 

Kate Hudson's O.G. pixie manic dream girl Penny Lane, Patrick Fugit's wide-eyed writing ingenue, and Philip Seymour Hoffman's drug-addled sage wisdom are the best pieces of this movie set to the seventies soundtrack capturing moments of humanity in a sometimes inhumane business. 

This is also the movie that motivated me to go back to school, because I wanted to get a degree in journalism and write for Rolling Stone. Two major switches later and no degree, I did manage to get in Rolling Stone: in the Letter to the Editor section in their 9/11 issue. They pulled a quote from me on one of their message boards. The day I saw my name printed in Rolling Stone Magazine remains one of the greatest days of my life. 

Favorite Scene: 

Just shut-up and sing.

#2: The Color Purple

That unmistakable silhouette.

I believe I was seven years old the first time I watched this movie with my mother. I wanted to watch it with because I loved Whoopi Goldberg from her comedy, and I loved Oprah Winfrey from after school T.V. watching. There were a few scenes that stayed with me.

Oprah Winfrey's Sofia emerging from behind stalks of corn after fighting her husband. Her face bruised, she shames Celie for telling her stepson to beat her--after fighting men her whole life she shouldn't have to fight her own husband. 

Another scene with Celie and Shug Avery after they escaped from the gin joint fight. Shug dressed Celie up and taught her how to love her smile. When Shug gingerly kissed Celie on the lips, my mother covered my eyes telling me that it was disgusting and girls don't do that--but there they were--doing that. 

Then the final scene. After a lifetime of abuse and struggle Celie stands on her own front porch of her own house looking over a field of purple wildflowers. A car pulls up and four heads emerge followed by beautiful fabric being swept up by the wind against the setting sun. Celie knows it's her sister. Just recalling her gut-wrenching cry of her sister's name brings tears to my eyes. Then meeting her children for the first time since they were born. The bond of sisterhood over years and miles never broken as they resume their clapping chant from their childhood...

And I'm crying now. 

I watch it probably twice a year and I still see things that I never noticed before. It's unbelievably quotable:

Nothing but death can keep me from it!

See daddy? Sinners have souls too.

I think it pisses God off when you walk passed the color of purple in a field and don't notice it.

Til you do right by me, everything you think about gonna fail. (The prayer of every spurned ex)

Hell. No. 

Just watch it. Bring the tissues.

Favorite Scene:

Ugly-face crying here you guys. Ugly. Face. Crying.

#1: The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

Before Gollum came and fucked it up for everyone.

I'm a geek right? My favorite movie is a fantasy adventure of a bunch of fantasy characters banding together against evil to destroy the One Ring. 

If that's all you see when you watch this movie then you're clearly not watching close enough! Where's my inhaler?

Friendship. Love. Devotion. Faithfulness. Leaving the nest. Going on an adventure. Letting go. Taking a chance. Overcoming grief and fighting against the odds when the odds are so obviously stacked against you. 

Come. The freak. On. 

This is so much more than a fantasy adventure.

I saw this in the theater with my friend six times. I bought the original DVD release and the extended box set. I watched all thirteen hours of extras and my friend and I would sit in a bar and quote them. Not the movie--the extras. We even went on a road trip to California to see the third movie--which remains one of the greatest trips of my life.

I will leave you with this scene. The devotion that Sam has for Frodo wrecks me every time--and while I think about my top five, that seems to be a common theme. I guess that speaks to my values, or at the very least what I want the most: a friend who would walk with me through fire.

Favorite Scene:

30 Days of Blogging, Day 14: You Could Lose Your Mind

The summer before fifth grade. I was very proud of this shirt. Rad dude. Rad.

I think I can attribute the majority of trouble I got myself into as a child to the bad influence of Nick at Nite. Shows like Leave it to Beaver, I Love Lucy, and The Little Rascals--riddled with rascally characters getting into all kinds of shenanigans. If you were going to take life advice from any Nick at Nite show, The Patty Duke Show was not one of them.

I changed schools twice in the fifth grade--the first time was at the start of the year when my mother decided the bullying situation at my current school was untenable, and the second was when we moved towns.

Second grade through fourth grade at Centennial Elementary in Littleton was at best a waking nightmare. My walks to and from school was like playing Super Mario Brothers--you never knew was was lurking around the corner wanting to throw things at your face. Things weren't any better in the school either. The kids were pretty bold when it came to their bullying, even going so far as attacking me in class--in front of the teacher. With little change and repercussion from the principal my mother pulled me out of Centennial at the end of fourth grade.

Peabody Elementary was full of promise. The staff and my teacher knew the situation I was coming from, and they were warm and welcoming. The kids didn't really pick on me so much as they ignored me.

One day a pair of girls in my class took me aside and said they wanted to talk to me. The reason that nobody really wanted to talk to me was because my clothes weren't really cool. Up until that point it never really occurred to me that clothes were supposed to be cool--I just wore what my mother bought me: jeans, corduroys, my Simpsons t-shirt, overalls--stuff kids wear. One of the girls offered to bring in clothes for me the next day, just so I could experience what wearing cool clothes would be like.

The next day she brought me a pair of black stirrup stretch pants, push-down tube socks, a cream colored turtle neck and a beautiful green long baggy sweater. They were the nicest clothes I'd ever put on. I went to the bathroom before our first recess to change. I stepped on to the playground and was met with all-around approval from the girls who dressed me up.

"See! This is how you should dress!" She was so proud of herself.

They invited me to participate in a swing race with them. We played together again after lunch.

For a day I felt like I belonged. Why only a day? Well, I brought myself down this time, with my big imagination and my big mouth.

As we sat together on the jungle gym I had an idea. How can I make my stock go up? Make up a fantastic, improbable lie, obviously!

I told the kids I wasn't going to be in class the next day because I had a doctor appointment, but my cousin is visiting and she was going to be allowed to sit in class for me. Oh and by the way, my cousin is from England! Oh, and she's British! Also,she's--wait for it--my twin!

Any of this sound familiar? That's because it's the plot to The Patty Duke Show. 

In summary, my genius plan was to show up at school the next day posing as my own English twin cousin. Sounds pretty cool, right? The kids clearly didn't watch nearly as much Nick at Nite as I did because they seemed to believe me, they even started telling other kids in the class. It occurred to me at the end of the day as I packed up my bag that my plot had many holes in it. If I was going to pull this off, I was going to have to tell my teacher.

I was the last to leave class and she was already at her desk grading papers.

Mrs. Fleming, was sweet but no-nonsense, with a darling pixie cut and she always wore red lipstick--I even still think of her when I wear red lipstick. I approached her at her desk and she looked up at me over her reading glasses.

I stumbled through my story--her stare was killing my confidence--but I walked away assuring myself that she believed me.

As I climbed into the car with my mom I became overcome with guilt. I told a pretty big lie. The absurdity of the lie didn't occur to me, just the fact that I lied. I was still doing time in my evening prayers asking for forgiveness for stealing a lip-gloss, I should be adding lying to my list of sins.

As I buckled myself in I told my mother, "I think I did something bad."

"What did you do?" She asked. Her voice sound strained--like I was about to drop a pretty big bomb.

I felt that I needed to diffuse what could potentially be a huge problem for me. If I acted like it's not that big a deal, then she would definitely find her chill.

"Well, it's not that big a deal. I told the kids in my class that I have an English twin cousin and that she's coming to school for me tomorrow. I told Mrs. Fleming too...but it's not that big of a deal! It's silly!"

The look on her face was not at all filled with amusement the way I hoped it would be. Her mouth was just stuck in a pursed "O" shape.

"Summer Jean, this is a very big deal. That's a huge lie, and it's not funny."

Yes it is, I thought to myself.

"Yes it is!", I said--out loud. Stupid.

"You are going to turn around and go back in there and tell your teacher the truth."

It wasn't rational, but I couldn't believe she wasn't on my side. I couldn't believe she was going to make me actually face my lie so boldly. I could feel my cheeks get hot and I began to cry.

"You can't make me go back in there!" If I cried maybe she'll take pity.

"We're not leaving until you go back in there and tell your teacher the truth." She put the van in park and turned off the engine.

I sat, slack-jawed, for what felt like minutes. I felt numb. I felt stupid. The absurdity of the lie was starting to wash over me. What a genuinely stupid lie.

I climbed out of the mini-van and started what felt like a death march towards the school. I could have done the honorable thing and just fess up. I could have done that. I didn't do that.

As I slowly paced down the polished school linoleum I kicked my brain into gear. Fessing up to lies is the worst. Why should I fess up to a lie when I could just come up with another lie? I can get through this relatively unscathed if I can come up with a really good cover for myself.

Mrs. Fleming was still sitting at her desk grading papers. I approached her desk and she peered up at me over her reading glasses once more.

"Yes, Summer?" Clearly I was encroaching on her time.

"Um, Mrs. Fleming? I just wanted to let you know--" Light-bulb."--that my cousin won't be able to make it tomorrow. She never made it out here. She's sick. She has pneumonia. She actually got sick on the plane. They had to turn it around and take her back to England. I don't know if she's going to make it. A-a-a-a-ny-way...she won't be here tomorrow. I'll be here though! My doctor appointment was canceled. See you tomorrow?"

I don't know what I expected. "Oh sure, no problem! Hope your cousin makes it! See you tomorrow!" Her face registered as utterly un-amused.

She just sighed. "Fine Summer. Good night."

I said good night and left her with her papers. Half of me thought she bought it. The other half knew she didn't, but it didn't matter. I had made myself look like an idiot at my new school--it was over before it could even begin.

The fun wasn't over. My mother demanded to know if I told her the truth, and in the spirit of maintaining an honest relationship with her, I told her that I lied again. She was aghast. She couldn't believe that I had lied again. We went home and I spent the rest of the night alone in my room.

The next day at school I spouted the same lie to the kids. Whether or not they bought it didn't matter. I was relegated to the same obscurity from which I came--not because I couldn't come up with an English twin cousin, but because my clothes looked poor.

Six months later we moved to Castle Rock. My parents were tired of renting in a bad neighborhood, and Castle Rock had better schools.

I wish I could say I learned my lesson. A couple days before I started school at Rock Ridge Elementary I sneak-watched Dirty Dancing. I was obsessed with the dancing in it and practiced in my bedroom wearing my mother's leotard.

On my second day of class I found out the two most popular girls took dance lessons. I boasted to them that I taught lessons, specializing in the dancing from Dirty Dancing. 

Lindsey, the most popular of the two, sneered through her braced teeth. "Our parents would never let us watch that, and I don't need lessons from you." I noted her response and quietly went about my business, once again relegating myself to friendless obscurity.

As I walked home from school that day I noticed another girl from my class walking the same path home as me. I asked if I could walk with her. She said yes, but this doesn't mean we're friends. She also pointed out that my cowboy boots looked ridiculous. They were my dad's boots and I loved them, even if they were too big for me.

That night my mother came into my room to say good night to me. I'll never forget that night, because the room was dark but still bright from the light of a full moon.

She asked me if I wanted to pray. I began to cry.

She wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Why are you crying baby?"

I felt bereft. "I just feel like I'm never going to have a friend. I'm never going to fit in. I don't know how to make friends."

She took my hands and told me to pray about it. I looked at the full moon and squeezed my eyes tight.

"Dear God, I don't have any friends. Please let me make a friend tomorrow."

My mother kissed me good night. I fell asleep crying that night, faithless in my prayer.

The next day as I sat alone on the playground a girl came up and started talking to me. Her name was Shiloy. I told her where I was from, where I lived in the neighborhood. She actually seemed interested in me. After school she walked me to the rain run-off tunnel that I walked through to get to my house. She said we should sit together at lunch the next day.

As I walked through the tunnel I heard the sparrows flapping around, building their spring nests. I smiled as I saw my house walking out of the dark tunnel. I ran the rest of the way home and breathlessly hugged my mother.

To be honest, 25 years later I still struggle with making friends and I still struggle with relating to people. I've stopped telling lies, and I always try to be myself. There's a gap that I struggle crossing--that gap that prevents me from connecting. Maybe it's fear, Maybe I'm a little bit broken.

That day though, I didn't feel broken. I didn't need a fantastic lie. I didn't need Patty Duke or Dirty Dancing.

As I hugged my mother, I looked up at her through tears in my eyes and said, "Jesus answered my prayer. I made a friend today."

30 Days of Blogging, Day 13: Lazy Days Are Here Again

This post is gonna be meme HEAVY. Ugh, do I have to cite my sources? Being ethical is the worst.

Tonight I wanted to write a story about the time in 5th grade when I lied about being my own twin. I'm going to write that story, however, I am currently snuggled in my beddy-by in my jimmy-jams under my blankey-wankey, and guess what?

I. Don't. Feel like it. 

Pout.

I'm tired and sleepy and cranky and I just wanna watch Mr. Robot. 

No you're not. Stop it.

I know that to be a good writer, you have to write. A lot.

Can't I just say I'm a writer? Do I have to actually do it?

Tonight I'm giving myself a night off-ish.

I will. I will treat myself. Thank you. Hey Retta? Call me.

In the mean time hit me in the comments and tell me all the wonderful things you have planned for this weekend. 

Mmm, weekend so good...

Lazy Summer OUT.

30 Days of Blogging, Day 12: Roster Fosters Imposter

Ever heard of "Impostor's Syndrome"? Basically it means that no matter how much you are meant to be where you are, you just don't feel like you fit. It comes with an unrelenting dread that someday you will be exposed for what you are--a fraud.

Step 1: Assimilate. Step 2: Try not to appear so damn shifty-eyed.

I think you would hard-pressed not to find someone who, at some point in their life, has felt this way. For me, I feel it constantly. With my friends, my job, my hobbies--this never-ending feeling in my gut that someone is going to catch on and see what I really am. Now I think it's safe to say it comes from deep-seeded lack of self-confidence and a loss of proper positive enforcement in my formative years, but we're not talking about that right now. 

There's a difference between feeling like you don't belong and then actually not belonging--being an actual fraud. 

In my junior year of high school I started to really notice that I had feelings of--shall we say--a lesbionic nature. While on the surface I did have crushes on boys my age (who subsequently came out of the closet), I harbored deep sapphic feelings for my poetry teacher...and my creative writing teacher...and my Sci-Fi and Fantasy teacher...did I have a thing for English teachers?

Ooo, yeah girl...I'll iambic your pentameter...

I, as many kids my age in the 90's who lived in small conservative towns--or anywhere for that matter--struggled with these feelings. Having been raised a good Christian girl these feelings were a very bad sign. 

I would lay in my bed and pray to God to lay me down to sleep and to forgive me for that one time I stole a lipgloss, I would also pray that God would take it away--please, please, please, take these feelings away. 

Don't make me like them.

Don't make me struggle with this.

Don't let my family hate me. 

When the day came in my study hall our teacher passed around a sign-up form with extra-curricular groups to join, I spotted among the foreign language clubs what I hoped would be a promising beacon: Staying Straight.

My inner dialogue was the following, "Staying Straight? Amazing! They can help me with these feelings. They can help me, you know--stay straight! Sign me up!" Check the box, sign here, and promptly forget about it. 

Weeks later I was sitting in class and one of the office aids came in and dropped one of the dreaded pink slips with my teacher.--the pink slip that was usually a call to go to the principal's office for a "chat". If you ever eyeballed that kid and felt a sense of doom, you probably did something naughty. 

As for me, I felt that sense of doom because I ditched constantly, so it was no surprise when the teacher called my name. 

For me there should have been a box marked Indefinitely.

As I started my march to the principals office I noticed it wasn't an actual principal's pass, but a pass to see the school resource police officer in the student counseling center. That sense of dread was replaced with a sense of "Oh fuck, I'm dead." 

As I walked in the small conference room I saw him sitting at the table next to the school nurse and other kids I recognized from around school. Everyone in the room was warm and inviting--I assume it's what it feels like to walk into your own intervention.

I sat down next to a very pretty girl who was a year ahead of me. If you asked me to define which high school clique everyone fell into, I would say it was a diverse representation of my school--jock, preppy, skater, theatre nerd (me), uhh...nice kid, weird kids, fat kid, skinny kid, even kids with chicken pox--I'm really struggling to remember my school cabals.

The nurse--who we'll call Ms. J to protect the innocent--started by having us go around and introduce ourselves. She was lovely and warm, and clearly talented with created safe spaces.

She was creating a safe space because she made it clear that this was a group for kids in our school to talk about struggling with staying off of drugs and alchohol--staying straight. As in: on the straight and narrow. Clean. Off drugs.

Full disclosure, at the time the only addiction I struggled with was my Phantom of the Opera and Titanic soundtracks.

I don't really remember if I said anything other than my name in that meeting. I just listened. The kids talked about their struggles with actual drug and alcohol abuse, and wanting to stay clean. They shared deeply vulnerable stories about their personal lives and home lives. 

Ms. J told me that I had an open invitation every week to come back and talk, if I wanted to. As I left the meeting I resolved that I would never return, that this group isn't for me. 

Here's the thing:

I kept going back. 

You will never judge me as harshly as I judge myself.

Mostly, I would listen. I never really shared anything about myself. What I got out of sitting with these kids was a feeling of belonging and safety--nobody judged anyone. We were all capable of making mistakes and coming back from them. 

I never told any of my friends about this group--it was too precious to me. The secrets told and the lives they belonged to were just meant for that room and the people in it only. That is until...

The school resource police officer offered the group a chance to come talk to middle-schoolers at health day about our personal experiences with drug and alcohol abuse. Did I have to say yes? No. Should I have gone? Absolutely not. 

As I stood with my peers in front of kids marginally younger than me, it occurred to me that we would all be required to share some kind of personal story. I guess you could say this was the start of storytelling for me, with the only exception being that it was completely made up.

I told a bald-faced lie. I said that I struggled with alcohol abuse and I would steal alcohol from my parents and blame it on my brother.

The truth? Up until that point the only alcohol I'd ever had was communion wine and sips of my mother's white zinfandel. My parents really didn't keep alcohol in the house much at all--they just weren't big drinkers. One time Ms. J gave me a ride home after school and she insisted on coming in and meeting my mother. They sat and chatted and my inner monologue was praying to God that she didn't casually ask my mom about my alcoholism and that my mom didn't actually ask her how we're associated.

I continued to tell that story throughout the day, each time adding more details and drama, to be honest with some altruistic intent--hoping that maybe it would have an affect on someone. The kids who told their stories were wonderful and brave, and honestly had more of an affect on me than I've ever been able to express to them.

We were invited to do this again the following year. I stopped when I started seeing familiar faces, and to be honest the middle school resource police officer was kind of a creep--he was a little too interested in the specific details of the link between using and sexual promiscuity, and I don't know why he was so interested in hearing about the sex lives of teenagers. 

Alright OfficerMcCreepafeel, that's enough of THAT.

Everyone eventually all graduated and moved on--well I didn't graduate, I just dropped out and took my GED. Close enough. Don't ditch class, kids.

Years later I ran into the pretty girl when I was working at the music store. She looked the same--radiant and kind. We caught up and eventually she asked me how I was doing with my addiction. I confessed that I drink with my friends. She seemed relieved when I told her because she told me she had started using again--but she had it under control. 

In that moment I wished I had told her that we should get together and talk some time, or offered to go to a meeting with her--or even offered some kind of truth--that I didn't actually struggle with alcoholism and I just drank at parties on occasions with my friends, and that I was worried for her and that I was there for her if she needed it. 

Instead I shrugged and told her not to feel bad. We laughed it off. She told me not to tell Ms. J. I gave her my number to call me some time. I never heard from her. I wish I hadn't let her walk away.

I know the obvious moral of this story is: don't fucking lie. I regret not being honest with why I was there to begin with. I regret telling tall tales. 

I don't know if I regret going back.

Oh, and I definitely did not stay straight.