pick a little, talk a little.

“I’m not saying I don’t cry but in between I laugh.” garden state.

I was sitting at a stoplight after a long walk with Todd the dog, en route to Mom and Dad’s house to take care of Molly the dog, when I looked over at the car next to me. I was singing aloud to Radar (which is my current song-on-repeat) and all I noticed about the woman in the car next to me was her wedding rings. And I ACTUALLY THOUGHT, to myself, “Aha! She’s married. That means SOMEONE loved her enough to marry her. And first date her. That means someone liked her! And… something is wrong with me.”

I mean, I’m not saying I’m not crazy. (Actually, I’m saying, right here, that I AM crazy.)

So then I saw this diamond ring clothed hand holding a cigarette and I thought, “Pssssh… she smokes! She’s married! And driving a mom car! And she smokes!?”

Okay, next, (really, this is where my mind went) I thought, “Oh! I GET IT! She must have been the cool girl. Still is the cool girl. Her husband wanted the cool chick and that’s why he married her. Because I bet you she’s still! so! much! fun!” I mean, it’s like McHottie. He is proud to say the first time he met his wife she was skinny dipping. And um, yea, cool girl? Not me. So not me. I’m kind of dorky. In an I like to read a lot, wasn’t really the prom queen type in high school, never really have been a big partier (not to say I don’t trip and fall into a keg every once in a while) kind of girl. I mean, it’s Tuesday night and I’m sitting at my parent’s house and quite content if I’m being honest.

The funny thing is that while I thought all of this, it actually humored me. I may have laughed. Out loud. Because I do that. Sometimes it’s after I figure out what songs like If You Seek Amy mean (okay I may have gone to see Britney in concert last week, hence the theme) but other times I just do. I find myself laughing. Over a revelation, a conversation remembered, over nothing, even.

The best thing about all of this is that it’s a turn of events. Because last week? Last week instead of laugh I cried. Really, I did. A lot. I sort of had one of those breakdowns I talk about sometimes. And then I decided. Stop, Kristin. Really, this is ridiculous. This is not you. You used to never cry. Overanalyze? Yes. Talk to death? Hell yea. Lose sleep over? Damn it, yes. (This is a new one. I used to be sleeps-like-a-baby-Kristin.)

So I realized something. I realized, I AM GOING TO GET THROUGH THIS. And I am going to be stronger because of it. Because that’s what happens. That’s what we do.

And then I went on Spring Break. Yea, seriously, Spring Break 2009. It’s what I did to get me to where I am now.

I went to Atlanta to see Britney. And it was AWESOME. More awesome than the first time I saw her. (I mean, this time she didn’t have sex on the stage.) But really it was fantastic. And then afterwards I met a guy who wouldn’t stop calling me “beautiful.” So much so that I thought about changing my name to it. But then again, his girlfriend (or ex-girlfriend? I never really could get the whole story.) was upstairs in their room. And he was a strange bird. But, I digress.

After Britney I went to Clemson. Home Sweet Home. I went to Esso and had a dollar beer. (If the economy gets any worse, EVERYONE AND THEIR MAMA GO TO CLEMSON. Seriously. You can survive on nothing.) From there I went to Tiger Town Tavern and met up with a friend I hadn’t seen since he graduated and moved to Illinois. And we had a pitcher and some nachos. College style. (I know that sounds retarded but go with it.)

When we decided, hm, maybe we should go home, we did. And my high on life mode caused me to get very little sleep. Which, put together with the beautiful weather and the fact that I was up and dressed early for a wedding shower the next day, caused me to want to be ANYWHERE BUT COLUMBIA. I wanted to be on the coast! In Charleston! SOMEWHERE! And so, somewhere I went!

And I had THE BEST TIME EVER. I mean, seriously. Spring Break was so much fun. (Except for the fact that I learned I SUCK AT DARTS. Okay, “learned” might be a joke. I kind of knew that already. But let me play Wii bowling or flip cup or beer pong and I swear! I can win! At one of them!) But that doesn’t keep me from reacting to REPEATEDLY missing the targets.

But this Spring Break thing? When you’re in the real world and don’t get a Spring Break? Totally underestimated. Because I needed it. Needed it like I need fresh air.

So what I suggest to all is cry a little, break a little, laugh a little, and live a little.

Really, it’s good for the heart.

take notes.

Last Tuesday at a happy hour the roommate invited me to, I started talking to a guy that was there. He noticed my class ring and told me that he too is a Clemson fan but that he attended a different college. He works in an office with my childhood bff. He knows my college best friends from high school. He grew up in the town my brother just bought a house in.

At some point in the conversation I got distracted by someone calling my name and turned my attention elsewhere. He walked over to another table and another conversation as I did that.

Shortly thereafter, the roommate and I were heading to leave and telling the folks there bye.

“Do you know where you’re watching the Clemson game Thursday night?” the boy stopped me as we headed out. “Not, not yet,” I said to him, in truth.

“Well, is your email address on the list invited to this happy hour?” he asked. “No, actually, my roommate brought me along,” I offered.

“Oh, well, is it online on your office website?” Thank you Lord, he’s smart. “Actually, yes,” I told him, impressed. All the while thinking, When you look it up please don’t look at my job title. Please don’t look at my job title.

“Okay, I’ll find it and email you then.”

Thursday afternoon, as I sat around the office not really thinking yet much about the plan for the evening, he emailed me.

Great seeing you Tuesday night.

Even though I’m kind of cautious about tonight’s game, believe some of us might get together. Do you all have plans? If not, you’re welcome to join us.

Since neither he nor I could come up with firm plans (he was hesitant about going to the restaurant he ended up with because they didn’t have sound; I was going to a friend of a friend’s if for at least a short while) he asked me if I wanted him to give me a call later when he found out, for sure, what they were doing. Hence, he got my number.

Around 6:15 that night he called me and I agreed to meet up with him around half time. And I did. Just as the game was starting back, Meredith and I arrived at the restaurant and went directly to the bar to order a much needed drink. Wake was winning by 3.

We weren’t there long before the boy found us and walked over. He stood and talked by our side for a long time, saying he would suggest we sit at the table with his roommate and their company, but it didn’t appear that there was any room. “Yea, I saw that. It’s okay,” I said to him. But he didn’t leave to rejoin his group. No, he stayed and stood or sat with us for the next two quarters. He bore the company of the guitarist from Mr. Beat’s old band, a frenemy who unnerves me, and Good Lookin’, who each appeared at my side like an unwanted tick.

When the game was over and I wished the one beer I had had had really been a whole case, we headed out with a smile and a good to see you.

On Friday he emailed me.

Still very disappointed in how Clemson played last night. Anyway, thanks for stopping by and hanging out.

If you’re up for it, we should grab dinner soon. Y’all have fun at Zac Brown tonight.

I’m being very adult about this. Keeping freakouts to a somewhat minimum. The ohmygosh moments were contained. In understanding why any of this is pertinent, you must know that I don’t go on dates often. One might argue that I have been on dates in the past 10 years. I would tell you that anything past a certain point in high school never really registered as a date on my radar. Sure, I dated a boy my junior year in high school that qualified as my boyfriend, but he was my older brother’s age and when he called me and asked if I was going somewhere, he usually ended with, “You can get a ride with your brother, right?” I have been on one on ones with boys but I would like to add that none of those consisted of him driving to my house to pick me up, paying, and dropping me off, respectfully. And yea, maybe that did occur once or twice with Mr. Beat, but I’d hardly call any of that dating.

Friday night after the concert, I received a text from the boy. He was in the upstate with his family, checking on how I enjoyed the show.

Sunday evening he called me. Checking on my weekend and my week ahead, he said. I called him back, we caught up, and we scheduled dinner. For tonight.

Yesterday I got a text from him asking if it was true that Tommy Bowden had been fired. (HALLELUJAH.) I like the fact that out there there exists a guy that treats me like I might know something in the slightest about college football.

Tonight is dinner. He’s supposed to call me for my directions.

And interestingly enough, I don’t think my dad paid my phone bill. Which is just AWESOME. (And yes, my dad pays my phone bill. I am at the bottom of the totem pole at a non-profit. Whatcha got to say?)

ventilator.

I am sick of ridiculousness. Of friends who think it’s a cool idea to chug a bottle of champagne and then cab it to the fairgrounds for a Friday night concert.

Of people that show up 45 minutes late to their scheduled dinner time and have nothing much to say about it.

And then want to know, “Kristin, is that your pitcher of PBR?” You’re damn right. And I requested just 1 glass even though I told the waitress that I had people joining me.

I am sick of being in the middle of things. Of having someone else’s drama effect my life. Of do you think she likes me questions when all I have to say is it’s none of my business. Of nights when I can’t go to sleep because I worry and they’re not my worries. I want everyone to be happy and everything to be peaceful and I wish I could be the Band-Aid but I’m not.

I am sick of wondering why no one likes me and then, finding out someone does and freaking out.

I am sick of elections and political commercials. Of cold weather and short days. Of post-surgery pain and wondering what people think when they see me and having to make excuses for why I can’t play tennis this week. I’m sick of not being able to run. And not being able to lift my hands over my head. Of mopping the kitchen floor and writhing in pain. Of wondering if I buy a pumpkin how I will be able to lift it.

I’m sick of Tommy Bowden. And, thankfully, this is proof that even when you’re sick of something, sometimes the tides can turn.

the apple and the tree.

At the gas station as we were leaving Columbia, Mom gave me $5 to run in and buy us each a Diet Dr. Pepper. “Dad, do you want anything?” I asked him as he was pumping gas.

“Yea, a road beer,” he answered.

It was Saturday morning and we were on our way to Clemson for the game. And I, the genius that I am, was comatose for most of the drive up there. We had decided – or more so they had come to the decision – on Friday night, not to go to the game. And me not wanting to drive myself to Clemson or Greenville even, had followed suit. And by following suit I do mean I stayed out until after 4 am. Which, if I said is totally unlike me, would be a huge understatement.

But then at 9 am – YES, 9 freaking am – on gameday, Mom called and I, surprisingly, answered. “We’ve decided to go to the game, so come over whenever you’re ready.”

In the next hour I showered and dressed and made it out to my parent’s house. And over the next two and a half hours I fought what I claimed to my folks was car sickness.

It was nice spending the day with them, talking to them about things, about life. The past few days with my mom have been some of the best conversation I have ever had with her, where I’ve been able to talk to her, vent about friendships and work, and she hasn’t gone into some form of meditation as a result of the onset of such dialogue.

We were laughing about her post-collegiate, pre-dad life when she said, talking of herself, “I’m just an open book.”

“With just a few pages torn out,” Dad added.

Once we got into Clemson I started getting pumped for the game, not realizing how angry I would still be at the tigers for last week’s loss until I saw them jumping and gearing up to run down the hill.

I also started, as we drove by tailgaters and travelers alike, to feel nauseas. “I’m feeling car sick,” I told my parents. They’re not idiots. “Roll down the window,” Dad told me.

“Uh – I’m really feeling it,” I told him. “I could throw up.”

“If you do, just do it out the window. Won’t be the first time that’s happened while I’ve been driving,” Dad told me, continuing onward to our parking space.

Suddenly Mom popped in defensively. “That was when we were dating!”

so long rob spence.

“You’re like the least dramatic person I know and I feel like you always end up having to deal with drama,” Meredith said to me on the phone yesterday afternoon.

I was batting 100.

The gym closed at noon as opposed to 1, which is what I had previously thought. The cars on the road? Apparently had drivers who were incapable of driving. My sleep pattern? Totally off. I’d stayed up watching The Sound of Music and The Bodyguard til 3 am. And yet, managed to fall asleep before I got to see Kevin Costner and Whitney finally end up together, which was what I was waiting for.

And the weekend? It was awful. The tigers? Even worse.

I finally figured out why sometimes, I just like to stay home. Or why some people, aren’t meant to be my friends because I like mine nice and accountable and not fussy or prone to leave you behind.

This morning, McHottie came into my office. “Did you have a good weekend?” He asked me the million dollar question. “No,” I said. “All weekend?” “Yea, all weekend,” I told him. “Well, I told you to come to my house! You should have; we had a good time!”

I should have done a lot of things. I should have gone there. I should have gone to the beach to see my grandmother before she sells her place. Or to her house in the country to check out the couch she’s saying is soon to be mine. I should have worked out more, drank and eaten less. I should have hidden under my covers and stayed there.

And today? Still batting 100. Because I was 30 minutes late for work for lack of finding any pants that weren’t too big on me.

gameday!

At the moment I am in Atlanta – not to be confused with HOTLANTA, which is what it will be called at 8 pm tonight. I am about to put my tiger paw on my cheek. I’m already decked in orange. “Not enough orange,” according to my brother.

And I am ready. I am listening to cadence count, ready. I am C-L-E-M-S-O-N ready.

I am ready for football season to start.

I am ready.

intention is everything.

This is what I did last night:

Then, I came to work this morning and got booed. Because Clemson fans that we are, we can’t appreciate our rival mascot. Well, I know what El Boss likes, and maybe he’ll be a fan when he sees it.

Last night I had planned on getting bid sheets written up for the auction in 2 days – count that: 2 DAYS! – so that I could just come in here this morning and type them into the template and click print.

Well, last night I watched 13 Going on 30 back to back as I painted for 5 hours. And then, when I was ready to go to sleep, had put clean sheets on my bed, I couldn’t close my eyes until Walker Texas Ranger ended. Oh Chuck Norris. You’re so special.

memorial weekend.

Last Friday I was really upset with McHottie. I let it get to me in a way I wish to never have happen again. He did everything I asked him not to do and nothing I asked him for. He shirked my deadline. He mouthed off. He got an attitude with me in front of El Boss, who then proceeded to take my side. (Today he continued his meanness.)

After leaving work that afternoon I drove around killing time, waiting for my brother to get here from Charleston. What started off as me looking for shoes for a dress I had ended with me buying another dress and then pair of shoes to wear with that.

A couple of hours later I met up with my brother and got in the car with him for Clemson. Our mission: to clean our our condo there because Dad is closing the sale on it this week.

Once there, we went to 356 for sushi. My favorite sushi. The shel roll is a delicacy – shrimp tempura, tuna, cream cheese, and avocado. But there’s just something in the way it’s cooked. In the eel sauce. In the wholeness of it all.

Later on we headed to meet up with some friends and then out – to Tiger Town Tavern. You’ve just got to love Clemson.

I fell asleep that night on the couch in the condo next to the one we own. And when I woke it was time to start the packing. And, if I may say so myself, I lucked out. Mom had mentioned to me, “If you want anything from the condo, you better get it now.” I know my response bordered somewhere along the lines of there being nothing up there I either wanted nor could fit in my place. But I was wrong. There has, for a long time, been a black and white poster there that I have loved. It was taken from one of Dad’s Beatles albums when he was in college. The creases are still clear. He unfolded it and framed it in the early 70s. Looking at it, you see a crowd of people and amongst them, visibly, is Paul McCartney (and Linda). And I have loved it always. And I got it (even though Mom is adamant it’s not mine).

When we finished on Saturday, we stopped by my favorite burger place in Clemson, Mac’s Drive In. And we raced to eat before we got back on the road so that I could get dressed and ready for the wedding I had to head to that evening.

Saturday afternoon, dressed in my new outfit with my old purse, I headed off to the ceremony with two of my guy friends. I sat through a wedding where in one ear, lines from Wedding Crashers were quoted and in the other, I heard, “Add ‘between the sheets’ to the end of each hymn title,” as the hymnal was flipped through at random.

At the reception I danced and danced, spilling my pinot grigio on my dress not out of inebriation, but out of joyfulness. I spent time with friends I love. I went to a bar in the Vista and had a couple of beers. I got home at a decent hour. I kept my smile in tact.

Sunday morning I got up and packed and left for brunch with Mom and Dad. Already half way to the lake at our club, I drove the rest of the way to meet up with my sister-from-another-mother and her family and spent time sitting on the deck of the house reading my now new favorite book, Love the One You’re With (and I’m only on page 81).

That evening we went on a cruise on the 2 week old boat, strawberry daquiris in hand, and found ourselves stranded in the middle of the lake, a problem later resolved to being a loose plug-in. We hooked up the trolling motor and moved slowly along as my sister-from-another-mother and I comedically paddled at will until we met up with another boat who pulled us all the less than 2 miles back to our dock. Home in time to eat our delicious dinner and to get in a game of Cranium.

On Memorial Day we sat in our pajamas for hours. We feasted on a breakfast of sausage biscuits (and later that day on a mountain of barbeque and ribs). We read our books and told stories and laughed. We took boat rides and drank beers. We filled the dock and talked endlessly. We celebrated togetherness with our family of choice.

"my feelings show."

“It’s lucky I only have one of these, he said. I can see where you’d never think about anything else.” story people.

I haven’t always been that sensitive. When I was younger, I would yell when my brother touched me. But all in all, I didn’t let the actions of my school peers affect me. I kept on keeping on. That’s all you can do. I didn’t care [or didn't show I cared] that they, for reasons unbeknownst to me, decided to exclude me. I’d go on to my tennis match that afternoon. And I’d win. And I’d be me. And that’s that.

I don’t remember crying much at my grandfather’s funeral. I remember crying when I found out, but not again. My mother says when I was younger, I only cried when I wanted to go to bed.

When Chad died it was if things changed. Something inside me shifted. I don’t remember crying when I found out about his brain tumor. I remember shock. I remember hope. I had a lot of hope back then. But I also remember his funeral, the way my body wouldn’t stop shaking, the way I cried; we all cried.

I went to class the morning of his funeral. I was going to get early release – the things you had to do in high school to follow the rules. I remember going to art class and seeing Mrs. Fritz and breaking down, wanting to curl into a ball. I remember her looking at me, knowing me so well after those years of me practically living in her classroom. I remember sitting at her desk, trying to stop the tears.

I cry at the drop of the hat now. Tears well up in my eyes. It could be nervousness or stress. It could be fear. It could be any of the things normal people can handle with grace. I cry. If I really think about my mom and all that she has gone through, still suffers through, I cry. Sitting at home over Thanksgiving, realizing for the first time since I can remember that our beautiful lab Keeley was not there, I cried.

My eyes just well up. And that’s that. Sometimes no tears fall. Most times no tears are seen. It’s just something between me and the emotion.

Saturday night, I cried.

The night seemed like every other. That and the fact that Clemson was able to pull out a win in what seemed a game where neither team really wanted it. I sat around for awhile after the game before it was time for us all to start cleaning up. Tents were put down, grills were sizzled, trash was picked up. Goodbyes were said.

Heading to my car I found my brother in the back seat with a headache. And before I put the car in drive it became clear that a hat was missing and Tina didn’t want to leave without it. I tried looking for it, couldn’t find it. I tried waking Daniel for help. He was groggy. Tina opened his door to look and then shut it, hitting his head.

And a switch flipped.

I’ve seen him mad. Heck, I’ve made him mad. But bourbon brother is not my favorite. He just, he became this evil person that, as much as I love him, I don’t like. I called out to his roommate and neighbors who were loading up in their cars around the corner for help and they came. They came to tame his anger and it just infuriated him. They came to help me and for that I could not be more grateful for. I realized just how much I really care about those guys.

But I don’t understand it. I can’t. I can’t fathom it. It embarassed me and him. I don’t get how this good, normally happy and kind and sweet person, can just turn. At the drop of a hat. On everyone.

I stepped away. Crying. Receiving hugs from guys that are not my brother. Comfort from people that are not my family.

I looked to one of them who I think so much of and said, “I just.. I can’t handle this. I hate drama.” And, looking back at me, he said with such honesty, “I’ve heard girls say that before. But you’re the only one I’ve ever believed.”

It’s interesting, though, who stood there. Who stood up and who walked away. Dreadlocks walked away. He was there.. but it’s not him. And of the 7 of us that were out there.. he just.. walked away.

What did my parents say to me when I talked to them? With faces full of disappointment in the fact that I, at 23, had to turn to them for help in this situation, they asked me, “What did you do [to him]?”

[tribute to clemson football 2007]

the other side of the pillow.

At my conference in DC on Friday, I heard an incredible speaker named Dr. Frank Luntz as he described the blogosphere to his audience as it pertained to our political world and then described bloggers as being “in need of breathlizers before they start typing.” I laughed because I know some (one) that do (does) in particular. Sometimes, we all have to admit, typing it out there provides us with clarity. So it makes relative sense to me. It sobers me.

Friday was a long day, made worse by a headache that began at 3:30 in the afternoon and didn’t go away until my plane started to land somewhere around 9:30 that evening. Fortunately for me, the Alieve I bought at an airport newsstand, the bottle of water I drank, and the nap I took in the airport (yes, I was that girl) as I waited for my flight and then, subsequently, on the plane itself, all contributed to making me a much happier girl and then, therefore, capable of making the 2 hour drive to Clemson following thus turn of events. When I arrived at Clemson at midnight, I had been up for 20 hours. To some, this is chunk change. For me, this is deadly. [Nap time at the airport saved my life.] I showed up at the apartment (everyone was downtown) and decided to visit with one of my brother’s neighbors for a few (he was playing a video game). Then I decided, time to sleep again. I put on my pjs, turned on When Harry Met Sally, and was then greeted by another neighbor who’d just come back from downtown and wanted to give me a hug and say hello. “Well, hello.” His girlfriend was in town from Tennessee so I went back next door to say hi to her. About 10 minutes later, I decided to try the sleep thing again. An hour and a half into that my brother, his roommate, and Dreadlocks came back from downtown and woke me up. Adoration swept over me again.

I decided somewhere along my car ride to Clemson Friday night that I am attracted to things that will not work out, things I can’t have. It’s almost too obvious a diagnosis. So similar, in fact, to the idea that I always pick the most expensive things in the store, the most costly purse of all at TJ Maxx. I have expensive taste in every area of my life. I also have commitment issues. I kiss the boy who doesn’t have my phone number. I like the guy I’ll never meet. I take a shot from the stranger whose name I can’t remember. And I’m okay with that. Because the thought of knowing they have a way to contact me and don’t is so much worse of a feeling than knowing that they can’t. Right? I’m attracted to the guy I’ll never see again.. because that really sweet one I see all the time? He’s just too close to home. Or I like that boy I have so much in common with but my parents will never approve. So all of these, I suppose, are fun for me. Why? Because I’ll never find myself committing to anything. I have too many excuses not to.

At the Clemson v. Wake game last week, I was sitting next to my mom in the stadium as a guy with dreadlocks walked up the steps. “Ew,” Mom said. And I found myself defending that which I never before would have. Maybe I’m becoming more accepting as I get older. Maybe I’m becoming more perceptive. Maybe I’m keeping everything at an arms reach, a great distance from myself.

“You have a serious fear of relationships,” the roommate said to me last night. No doubt. And I can’t really figure out where it all stems from. Is it just because I’ve never met anyone I want to be in a relationship with?

And why?