Tales From the Kari

Alright, so if I'm good at anything in the world it's having a tricky name. What can I say, it's my nature to be tricky. What is my name, you ask? It's Tricky, Tricky, Tricky.
Oddly enough, I new somebody who's name was actually Tricky. Well, two people I guess.

Anyway.
So, it's not really hard to say my name. It rhymes with "naughty" and "gaudy" and "haughty." Those are all easy words to say. Depending on how you pronounce your "au" sound, my name can be rhymed with "potty," "hottie," and "dotty." It gives it a bit of a Jersey flavor.

What really throws people off is that there is an R in my name.
Kari.

This is a typical introduction.
For the purposes of the scenario, I will spell things phonetically:
Tina: Hi, I'm Tina. What's your name?
Kari: Kaudi. Nice to meet you.
Tina: Claudia? That's pretty it's not--
Kari: No, no. Kaudi.
Tina: Oh! I'm sorry. Claudie?
Kari: No, nope. Kaudi.
Tina: Kaudi? Huh. I've never heard that name before. How do you spell it?
Kari: K-A-R-I
Tina: [puzzled look, followed by nod of understanding] Oh! you mean Car-ee?
(think like racecar)
Kari: Nope. No, no. Kaudi.
Tina: Now wait...where does that? How do you?
Kari: It's Norwegian. You roll the R.
Tina: huh. That's weird. [walks away]

Now, Tina is probably your average person. Those people assume that I must have said my name incorrectly and as soon as I've spelled it they're eager to point out my mistake to me. "Oh, you must have meant...." No, no, nope. Tina, I think I would know my own name.

Every once in a while I get a person like the preacher at a church in Oklahoma. I think is name was Jimmy-Ray. A very cheerful middle-aged man with braces and glasses who, thinking back on it now, could be Kip Dynamite's southern cousin.

Jimmy-Ray: And what's your name?
Kari: Kaudi.
Jimmy-Ray: How do you spell that?
Kari: K-A-R-I
Jimmy-Ray: Oh! Just like it sounds!

Now, I will honestly say I have NEVER heard that come out of someone's mouth when I've spelled my name for him or her. I just smiled and nodded.

There was once a woman named Susan who, after the Tina scenario runthrough, decided to inform me that life must be awful with a name like mine. She very curiously asked me why I didn't change my name as soon as I could. I politely, but smugly, told her that it was probably for the same reason her name was still Susan.

I especially enjoy it when someone says: "Man, I'll bet EVERYbody calls you Carrie."
I haven't really found a clever way to respond to that one. But I just reply with, "well, people I know don't. And people I meet just do it the once."

I've had someone ask me if she could just call me Carrie because she didn't know how to roll her R's. NO! You most certainly can not. Can I call you Shirley because I think you look like one? Of course not! I will call you by your name. Whatever method it takes me to pronounce it.

Think if you were like a hobbit. And you were saying like "Harry Potter"
It would come out like "Haddy Potta"
Now say "Kari" in that same voice.
Rolling R's isn't much different than just turning the R into a D.


My name and I have been on many adventures. I hope to have many more to share with my children.

More Than A Habit

It always seems that I am the most troubled when I feel far away from God.
And it's not even that he is distant from me. It's that I have put other things between us.
Which I tend to do quite frequently.
And even when I realize I do it, I can't seem to manage to fix it.

And maybe that's the problem?
It's not my job to really "fix" anything.
Right?

So the thing that's getting in the way is myself.

I really struggle with the aspect of "making God time a habit."

While it's logical that if I do something for a certain number of days, it becomes a habit, and I'll feel sortof incomplete without it. Like praying, or reading my Bible. And that's ultimately what I want. I want to feel hungry when I haven't been filling myself with the Bread of Life. And I want to feel restless unless I've prayed to God before I go to sleep.
But I don't want it to be a habit.
I want it to be part of me.
I want to want it so much that I can't live without it.
And I hate that the "trick" to getting it like that is making it a habit.
I don't think that's fair.

I feel like I'm so separated from myself right now.
I can't control my surroundings
I can't fix my situations
I can't even keep my stomach from hurting.
And I know it's because I'm trying to.
I'm trying to do all of these things, because they're keeping me on edge, and I want to fix them so I won't be so rocky inside.

And in reality, I'm not separated from myself at all.
I'm so much a part of myself I'm not letting my life be ruled by its king.
I'm trying to take control, and I'm being reminded that there is a reason that I am NOT in charge.

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus
just to take him at his words
just to rest upon his promise
...

I know it
Now to mean it...

Where taking advice and living life intersect--and likewise diverge:

It always seems that whatever ideas I have in my head, my parents have other ones.
Whatever I think is a good idea isn't quite the wisest one to them. And where I struggle is that I can understand that my parents are more wise and experienced than I am. And therefore, their advice is probably really valid. But, how do I become wise by just listening? Isn't there some sort of do missing there? I mean, I could listen and do what they say--but what is wisdom if its not gained from experience. I only have the wisdom of the "easiest way to success" rather than "my very own" one.
I am probably the lest independant 22 year old I know. And I think it's because I've been taking advice all my life, rather than figuring things out for myself.
Right now I'm taking physics classes at Wayne State. My parents don't really think it's a great idea, but they're humoring me. I planned it so I could sub during the days, and get a part-time job in the evenings to earn money. I'm working on getting into districts as a sub--believe me, it's harder than it should be. My goal is to get another evening job so that I can make enough money to move out of my house. I mentioned this to my dad, and he immediately struck it down. "Moving out is not what you need to be focusing on while you're still in school." Which holds a valid point. However, I know myself. I am like a lamprey. A parasite, if you will. When given the means to survive off of something else I have no motivation or drive to do anything above and beyond exist. However, if a parasite wanted to live without a host it would most likely die. Survival of the fittest. When put in a situation where it is do or die, I thrive and I flourish. My sense of competition only arises when I'm in danger of failing. Otherwise I have no drive to pull ahead. It's how I've always been. At school, in sports, board games. . .etc.
What my dad doesn't understand is that as long as I am living with them in their house, I am never ever going to be independent. Because there is always someone there to pick up the slack. If there's no one there to unload the dishwasher for me if I put it off long enough, then I will do it right away. Because I have no other choice. If I have to pay a bill or lose any credit I might have, I will do it right away. Because I have no other choice. If I'm at home, somebody else picks it up and "puts it on my desk where I should see it." And I never do. I can't fall on my butt if I've got a fluffy pillow glued to it.
My dad doesn't understand this, because while I'm exactly like him in most ways, this way I am not.
My dad doesn't understand why I don't want to go back to the hospital and just work two 12-hour shifts making $12/hour instead of trying to find a night job a few nights a week making much less. He doesn't think that working extra days at less compares to working less days at more. Which he's right. But I don't think that extra money is worth having a job I don't enjoy as much as I could another one. He thinks that money does all the talking all the time, and I just don't agree. Probably because I've never had the chance to realize that I have to make what I live from. And as long as I'm living at home, I'll never 100% live off my own keep. Therefore, money doesn't talk as loudly to me as liking my job.
My dad said that when you're working for something, it doesn't matter if you like what you're doing or not--you do what it takes to get there. And this is another characteristic that I do not possess. Even when driving somewhere, I'm okay with taking back roads and other scenic routes. Because if I get to my destination and it's not what I thought it was, at least I have lots of places I saw on the way that might be better. I don't like shooting for a target, hitting it, and then thinking "okay, what now?" I'd rather shoot, and maybe hit something else on the way.
I respect my parents greatly. And they are both wise, and have great jobs and are in great situations. However, I have a feeling that if I let my decisions be their decisions then my life will not be my life. And I won't be able to teach my children anything but my way--which wasn't my way to begin with.
Freedom might be a gift. But independence doesn't come without sacrifice.

This is one of the neatest things I've ever seen.

I still can't wrap my mind around it.

http://imaami.blogspot.com/

on fitting in.

Family pictures aren't a good indication of how a family is.
Especially when you're not allowed to be yourself while taking them.
And if you argue it, you're clearly selfish and unreasonable
because you're not a family if you're not wearing a nice sweater
and you can't wear clothes people always see you in
because families color coordinate.

Sometimes I feel like I don't belong in my family.
I'm not serious enough
my clothes aren't nice enough
my hair's the wrong color
my music is too loud
my movies are too boring
my smile is too smirky
my eyes are too squinty
my goals aren't good enough
I'm not thin enough
Why can't I just eat meat
I can't stand our dog
I'm not social enough
I don't want to be popular
I don't date enough
my heels aren't high enough
I hate eating out and shopping

What's the point of being a Herron girl if I'm the one everyone forgets about?
What's the point of a family picture if I have to wear other people's clothes?

On Prayer. And Husbands.

Tonight Drew and I were driving back from coffee and said his dad asked him if he prayed for his future wife.

Now, I've heard many people talk about how they pray for good Christian spouses for their children. And how people pray for their future mate every day. But quite honestly the thought never actually occurred to me. It never occured to me to be praying for a man I don't know yet. Or who hasn't actually entered that role in my life.

I pretty much avoid the possibility that people I know could be my future husband. Or that somebody I meet one of these days could be him. But I guess just beause I don't want to be married or dating right now isn't a reason to not pray for any of them.

So I decided that maybe that's something I should start doing. Because I think I'd hope that he's praying for me.

The truth is, I miss you

I don't think a day goes by where something doesn't remind me of Kara.
Last night, the dude with the animals on Conan made me think of Todd.
There's Australia commercials on TV all the time.
I have pictures of Kara all over.
Every time I have a funny story, I start a new letter to her.
Every time I see something I know she'd want to see, I write it down.
And at the end of the week, I have a stack of letters that are all too old to mean anything if I send them.

Sometimes I'm afraid that she thinks I forget about her.
And sometimes I'd say it's true.
Not because I don't remember, but because sometimes when I just need her there
if I don't remember that she's so far away it's easier to not let it get me down.

Sometimes you just need your best friend
and the thought of just talking to her but not having her here hurts more than not talking to her at all sometimes.

Maybe I just need somebody to go on a slurpee run with.
Somebody named Kara Michelle.

I don't feel quite right.

Now and then these feet just take to wandering
Now and then I prop them up at home
Sometimes I think about the consequences
Sometimes I don't
I realize that falling down ain't graceful
But I thank the Lord that falling's full of grade
Sometimes I take my eyes off Jesus
And I know that's all it takes.

I wish that I could say that at the close of every day I was happy with the way that I'm behaving.

Because Job, he chased and answer
The wise men chased a child
Jacob chased her fourteen years and he captured Rachel's smile
Moses chased the promised land
Joseph chased a dream
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

They say a race can only have one winner
And you know you have to pull out front to win
God knows the only time I'm winning
Is when I'm chasing him.

I wish that I could say that at the close of every day I was happy with the way that I'm behaving.

Samson chased a woman, and he chased the Philisties
I'm not quite sure what Jonah chased but I know he caught the sea
Cain, he chased the harvest
Abel chased the beast
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

Jesus chased the money men
And he chased his father's will
He chased my sins to calvary
And he caught it on that hill
Saul, he chased the Christians
and his blindness made him see
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me.

I fell in love at the golf dome.

Yes, that's right. Love in a very unexpected and unusual place. The Golf dome at 5 mile and Haggerty. It happened in bay 22.
We had paid for bay 21 for an hour, and I was hitting my driver, trying to get my body to memorize my swing because I haven't been hitting the ball well lately. After about 30 or so swings, I started to hit it consistently. Drew, by this time, was getting tired of waiting so he had jumped on the bay next to us that was presently empty. When I put the driver away, he jumped over and started hitting off of our mat, so I moved over to bay 22 and said "Drew, I'm going to play around with your clubs."
His clubs are TaylorMade Rac LT2's, with a stiff steel shaft. They're much heavier than my Lynx Crystal Cat graphites. So I picked up his pitching wedge and started messing around. It took me a few swings to get used to the drastic weight change, but I was hitting them quite well.
But let's be honest, anyone can hit a pitching wedge. So I moved to an 8 iron. And consistently straight and long and low went the golf balls. I moved up to a 6 iron--a club that is (pardon the pun) hit or miss with me. Perfect. I decided that if I could hit his 5 iron (I have't hit my five iron well since freshman year of high school) I was converted. If I could describe to you how clean I consistently hit this club, you would want to learn how to irish dance. It was amazing. So I am in love with my brother's golf clubs. And they seem to be reciprocating.
Who needs a boy when there's golf?
Seriously.

My very first car accident.

and i no longer have a car

or the 6000 dollars that it cost.


but i do have a nice headache.
sucks.

I'm having a hard time sleeping.

And isn't that the heart of insightful posts?
Usually, yes. Tonight? Probably not. We'll see where the mind takes us.

I think I need to brush my teeth. I also feel the need to go run for three and a half hours. I feel the need to do something incredibly hard, to show me what it means to try. Sometimes I'm all too good at running away from things. It's what I do to responsibility. And difficult things. And even boys. I run away from it all. I'm running away from my job because I'm not happy. I'm not happy because it's too hard. It's too hard because it's not what teaching is supposed to be. But yet I know full well that there are probably 1 in every 6 teachers who are in my predicament. What's the point in graduating early if I can't handle the job? Why am I now suddenly deciding I want to major in physics? Is it from 3 and a half years of having none of it after 3 years of physics every day? Mom doesn't take me very seriously. Understandably so. I don't give her any reason to. I can't even keep my room clean.
I think one thing I am going to have to do is make a decision without asking or looking for approval. I have to decide where I'm going to go, and how I'm going to pay for it. If I sit back and wait for approval on every move I make, I'll never go anywhere because someone will always think I could have made a better one.

So the real question is: do I save the princess out of love, or obligation?

Does Mario put his life on the line day after day for the woman he loves? Or does he rescue her because it's simply his job? At the end of the day does he shake her hand and walk away? Or does he march boldly in and sweep her off her feet?

Do I go back and get my physics classes because it's really what I want to do? Or because I need a valid reason for quitting my job?

I guess it's really neither. Regardless of love or obligation, Mario puts himself out of the equation. He doesn't rescue the princess for himself. He does it for her. If it were for himself, he wouldn't be so selfless as to run head-on into biting botanicals or bullets with only the protection of a mushroom. That's not something you do to make yourself feel better. You do it because someone elses' life is more important than your own.

Whatever I end up doing, I can't do it because the end result is best for me, can I? I have to do what honors God most.

That sucks. Because I know that God knows that the kids where I teach now need me. And to some degree I need them. Let's be honest--I need them all the time.
Unfortunately I don't know how to deal with my Koopa Trooper. I don't have the fire power.
So do I daily sacrifice my sanity, my happiness, my patience, my time, and my health to serve 120 kids who aren't able to return the favor?
Would Mario quit just because he fell down a hole? No.

But I'm not a middle-aged portly Italian man, either. I don't even know anything about plumbing.

I'm in business for self-righteous excuse-making.

It doesn't pay very well.

Tales from Oklahoma

So Kali and I are driving from OKC to Tulsa this morning, and let me tell you it was quite an adventure.
The plan was that we were going to eat lunch in Tulsa at 1:30, so we decided to maximize eating time and minimize waiting time that we should leave around 11. It's about a 90 minute drive, so we figured we'd be early enough to help out a little, but late enough that we didn't have to die waiting for our delicious meal. My mom and Aunt Karen decided they were going to leave around 10:30 (sounds like their plan was somewhat similar to ours).
So 11:10 rolls around, and we're off! I was driving, because I like to drive. Kali was making bows out of ribbon in the passgenger seat.

So we're driving along and things are going well, and then all of the sudden THE BEST SONG EVER WRITTEN comes on the radio. "grrrrr-look at this photograph!" we both begin to belt out at the top of our lungs. This trip is turning out great! "hoowwrr did our eyes get so rrrred?" Oh man!
So we're in the middle of the last chorus (so we're making a huge production of it) and this white Sentra drives by while we're waving "grooood-bye-yi, grooood-bye-yi" along with the song. Let's just say I'll bet they nodded in understanding, saying in their heads "I'll bet they're listening to that kickin' song Photograph. Oh man, that song kicks."

So Kali and I have a jolly good laugh at the high-quality music we just experienced. You know, that song just never seems to get old. And by old, I mean good.

So we're driving, and all of a sudden this little 5 year old Creek or Mexican girl (we couldn't really tell) runs across the highway. We quickly (and by 'we' I mean 'I') slam on the brakes and after that short-lived drama passes, we're cruising on our way. We kept flipping stations, hoping to come across the Baywatch Theme Song, but the closest we came was this other song that wasn't really close at all.

We're driving on a little more--we're about 16 miles outside of Tulsa, and we run into a traffic jam. I decide to call mom (because they left before us) to ask if she had hit it and how long it would last. She answers the phone, and I ask her if they're still on the road or if they've gotten to Aunt Heidi's house yet. She said they were still on the road, and I asked where they were and she replies,"Oh, we're about 16 miles outside of Tulsa still." I asked her if she had hit the traffic jam, and she said they were just into it. I looked around and I see a red SUV 2 cars in front of us and I asked her "is there a white Sentra (yes our friends from before) behind you?" and she was like "YEAH!"
It was hilarious. Because we caught up to them.

So we drive through the traffic jam, and it comes that we're nearing my mom and Aunt in their car to pass them. I decide to roll down the windows so we can make faces at them, and all of the sudden Kali lurches forward and screams "NOT THE BOWS!" as the bows she was making start to slide from the dash. We quickly roll up the windows. Hilarity ensues.

We pass my mom. We're here at Aunt Heidi's. Food is not even close to ready. We're dying.

I'm hungry.

The end.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Why don't I feel anything yet?

And we already know, There's no cancer in Heaven.

Common Sense versus Consequence.

So I was talking with Jason, a five year old boy my mom babysits, and as I was unloading the dishwasher I was holding some steak knives. I said, "Hey Jason. I was thinking of starting a new hobby. Do you know what a hobby is?"
"No," he replied.
"It's something that you do in your free time. So my new hobby, I was thinking of taking up knife throwing. Do you think that's a good idea?"
"NOOOO!" he cried.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you'll get a spanking from your mom," my mother interjects from the back room.

Now, I have a problem with that answer. I have a problem with teaching kids that we don't throw knives because if we do we get spanked. Quite honestly, a spanking should be the least of your concerns. The reason we don't throw knives is because it is dangerous. Somebody could get seroiusly hurt.

When I would take Cody (a three year old boy we babysit) to the store, I would ask him if he was buckeled in and he would reply "yep!" I would ask him if he knew why it was important to buckle up. He informed me that if you didn't buckle up, you'd get a ticket. I said, "true. But is there any other reason?"
He said, "so your mom doesn't yell at you!"

I don't think that raising our kids on consequence is the right idea. (Granted, I don't have children of my own--so I could very well not know what I'm talking about.) I think that it's okay for kids to know that 'this is a possible consequence for this action,' but for them to not realize the actual reason those consequences are in place is a shame.

Why will your mom spank you if you throw a knife? Not because throwing a knife merits a spanking, but rather because throwing a knife is dangerous.
Why will you get a ticket if you don't buckle your seatbelt? It's because too many people die as a result of not wearing seatbelts. We wear seatbelts because our lives are at stake. We wear seatbelts to keep us safe. Not so we don't get a ticket. To keep us safe.

My mom disagrees with me. She says that the number one reason we wear them is because God says to obey laws, and the law says to wear one. That doesn't make sense to me. Laws have a purpose. They're not just telling us to do things for no reason. The law is in place to KEEP PEOPLE SAFE. Yes, God tells us to obey laws--even if we don't agree with them. But I disagree that we do things under consequence of the law.

Maybe this is why my classroom is so chaotic sometimes. Because these kids are brought up in a world where consequence is the only reason to stay in order. They don't understand the reason the consequences exist. They don't understand that talking and throwing things around the room isn't wrong because "throwing paper is bad." It's wrong because it keeps their classmates from learning. It's hard to enforce rules when the first smallest consequence has to be the straight up call to parents, and the second one is suspension. Kids don't respond to lunch detentions or extra assignments. And once they've had one suspension, it doesn't scare them. They didn't actually learn any error to their ways. Because they are only looking at the consequence, rather than the reason it occurs.

I am going to change the world one of these days.
We've just got to hang in there.

Programable shampoo!? Sign me up!

So I was in the shower washing my hair and I started to read the shampoo bottle.
I don't know about anyone else, but I have the habbit of reading anything and everything whenever I am in the bathroom. Whether I'm on the pot or in the shower, or just simply waiting for my 60 seconds before I spit my Listerine, I'm reading the bottles, labels, golf magazines etc.
So I'm reading and the bottle says: "Dispenses just the right amount of moisture to every strand without weighing hair down!"
So let me get this straight. . .this shampoo can go to every single little strand of hair on my head and pinch out "just the right amount" of moisture!? That's awesome! I hope the maker of this shampoo is using his talent to help rain fall only on places that need it right then and there and to help just the right amount of deer shot during hunting season so that there aren't too many running around or too few to eliminate hunting altogether.
Maybe this person could work on making sure families have the perfect amount of children to feed, and money to go around, and also that hospitals don't get too full or supplies run short!
Just think of the possibilities!

I'm going to be honest, I've done some computer programming in my day. And what I learned from computer programming is that you have to account for every last instance that something might not go according to plan. For and Do loops for pages and pages, just in case the user enters something in ALL CAPS, or in case the double random generations of digits have the same 4th one. Everything that can go wrong isn't necessarily going to happen, but you've got to prepare for it. Computers can't think to adjust themselves.
But good greif--this shampoo can! AMAZING!

I wonder how they do the tests to make sure that hair got juuust the right amount of moisture? I mean, you can't have a control group, because the simple fact that every hair requires its own perfect amount of moisture means you can't compare two strands to each other because they're different. So when you take this strand after it's been perfectly moisturized, I wonder how you can know if it would have been moisturized just as well by something else. You can't. The opportunity has passed.
Therefore the shampoo can't get sacked for false advertising--they can't prove it.
Hmmm, very strategic.

I'm going to have to think about this some more while I go comb out my perfectly moisturized hair.

Since when are "ghetto" and "black people" synonymous?

Alright, I've lived in Livonia all my life, and I'm pretty aware that it is a city that lacks diversity. It's no secret that Livonia is like one of the whitest cities in the country and I'm fine with that. I never thought it was like that because citizens didn't allow black people in, or felt like there wasn't a place for people who aren't white. I was just always under the impression that there were just more white people in the city than any other race.
A lot of people in my high school and middle school were Asian and Indian. A few were African-American. But truth be told, there were just more white people.
Now, I guess that there's a proposal for a Wal-Mart to go in down at Middlebelt and Plymouth. Okay, first of all, there's one 1/2 mile north at Middlebelt just south of I-96. Why are they going to build another one right there? But I guess that's beside the point.
What got me was that there was a community of people who live right behind the place where the store will go who don't want a Wal-Mart there. They don't want a Wal-Mart there because they are afraid it will attract more black people and turn the area ghetto.

Please, please, please, people of Livonia--tell me this isn't true. Tell me that the people in the media are just making news. First of all, why is it okay to label Wal-Mart shoppers as ghetto? Secondly, why assume only black people shop there? Thirdly, why oh why make the correlation between a large african-american shopping population and something turning ghetto?

To be completely honest, Wonderland Mall (the mall that used to exist where the Wal-Mart might go up) was always considered the "ghetto mall" in the first place. Making it a Wal-Mart, or filling it with black shoppers isn't going to change its ghettocity.

So dear Livonia, I love you and your tall trees and wonderfully timed traffic lights and your highly achieving schools. But if you think that you are above diversity, GET A LIFE. And open your eyes.

That's going to leave a mark.

today i got hit and it really hurt a lot
and i feel stupid because it not only hurt me a lot
but it hurt my feelings
because i don't know why it even happened.

Oh Mother, will you ever learn?

My mother is currently looking at miniature schnausers online. You know, those dogs that are about as big as a shoebox and think they're as big as a volkswagen?
So this has prompted me to do some serious thinking about what I want in a dog.
There are a few rules for purchasing dogs. Okay, actually just one:
1) Must be lazy

This means that purchasing a 1)beagle; 2)lab; or 3)anything shorter than knee-height is completely one hundred percent against the rules.
Everybody knows that little dogs are yippy. They just yip and yap all day long. And there's (for some unknown reason) that crazy temptation to put bows in their hair. And certainly, anything with the word "miniature" in its name clearly isn't even a real dog--let along a whole one.

Dogs were not made to be yippy and carried around in little handbags. Dogs were made to saunter around slowly and plop to the floor in a pile of lazy, calm, gracefulness. Dogs weren't made to be walked on leashes or run around for hours in a yard. They were made to sit with you while you watch TV, cuddle in bed with you, lick your face in one swift movement with giant tongues. That's what dogs are for. They were made for petting and loafing with. Dogs should always be large enough to lay on without crushing. And they should always be lazy enough to be okay with being laid on.

So in summation:

This is NOT a dog.

THIS

is a dog.

Have Fun!

I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you.

So I was cleaning, and I came across my Andy binder.
I don't know if it's a bad thing that I have a chronological binder of our relationship. It's got letters, drawings, poems, IM conversations, e-mails... some good, some bad.

It's weird looking back on how much trust he put in me. And it's weird how much we confided in each other, and how well we knew each other. It's weird that things went so sour after there being so much depth.
Heh, oh well. We were just really young, and people don't stay young forever.

In a way, I became more immature after we broke up. But in so many more ways I grew up a lot.

I definitely forgot how much trust and communication goes into a relationship, though. Sometimes I think that I want to be in a relationship, but in the past 4 or so years I have never had anything close to the type of honest communication I had with Andy. I wonder how it ever even got to that point?

Hmmm. I'm happy I found that book. And I'm happy to have read through it again. I'm happy I'm not with Andy. And I'm happy that I don't have to see or talk to him ever again if I don't want to. Does that sound bitter? It wasn't supposed to.

And I always have Desk to listen to, as much as I want. :-D I love Desk! We were such an awesome band.

I do, however, wish I hadn't been such a jerk to Kyle. Because he was a great friend, and I miss him a whole lot.

And now I have to put this binder away and finish cleaning.
I'll leave you with a poem, courtesy of Andrew Scot Mascaro:

i should have been the classy boy,
crashing home the pixie crust.
awake and adjourned and relentless with amour,
aura strong with no need to face my fears.
i should have connected with the idiosyncrasies.
i should have eaten with the gods and punished my ignorance later.
i could have been shined up for the stories to tell, and hell to smile upon,
a rebel in perfect haze.

i should have been there in the fieldsduring summer,
the vacant black sky to brush us all with cool.
comfort.
i should have broken my indignant back for the slaves of the world.
i owe everything to the blue faced aliens of the futuristic past.
they've shown their bones to me, without ever looking back to theirs.
i should have felt your nerve tips quiver in the storms of my eyes.
i should have iced your lips and set your hair to solidify the air.
it could have been my heart bleeding recessively if i had opened my missed
army
arms.

i leak battery and incandescence, coated with fate, false, flour and fumes.
fiend in no light, retrospect respected fragmented dullness.
i could have been the leader and the glass bomb they all worship.
i should have saved my continues to myself and sucked in my inner ears.
could have spoken up.

i could have been thrice removed and unsure,
without but relentless in my annoyances at least
reasonable.
i should have been the ones in the fire, to teach me
something real about
pain.
rummaging the feelings, forgiving would have meant more than coincidence.
i could have risen above about the earth to serve a prelude to some unknown
mastership,
or at least something new.

but the additives and subtraction will prove something the dust can peruse,
and mistrust, and subjugate, and endure to love and fly and hold and comprise
the very virtues of hope.
i am a power cord to the metal frame of validity.
soft, old, glossy, warm, deep, starred, forgotten, forgetful, imminent, and
permanent.
savored, requested, distinguished, unwholesome, shaped, found, gone, giddy,and stone.
that which looks as fault only supports us in the unnatural institution ofour lives,
and only a porous rock floats in water.