August Angst

Blind Dating The Church

2011-09-13T15:29:00.000-07:00

Here is what I know about myself, I like my churches like I like my men--intellectual, small and quirky. I moved recently which puts me in the church-hunting scene and I don’t know that I ever realized before how very similar the process can be to blind dating. I give each church a try based on the information that I have from a friend, a group that I belong to or, let’s face it, maybe just based on outward appearances. I think I have a good gut for what I want, but I still always try a few that aren’t my type thinking that perhaps my tastes have changed or that I should just find a few places to pass the time for a while. After all, my perfect church home is only really going to plop itself down in front of me when I stop looking, right?

That is, by the way, what married Christians are always telling single people about “church” searches.

“You’re only going to find a church when you stop expecting to find one. Good churches always pop up when you least expect it.”

“God will bring you a “church” when you stop wanting one so badly. That’s what happened with me and First Baptist, here.” (Cue, oozing condescension)

AND, finally, “Did you ever think maybe this is a gift from God that you haven’t found a “church”? Now you are free just to concentrate on HIM and not get confused with the love and support and fun that you would be having if you did have one.”

Wait, that all sounds stupid in this context doesn’t it? Same goes when we’re talking relationships. If you are a married person who uses one or more of these canned lines, on your poor vulnerable, single friends, get in the bathroom, rinse that filthy mouth out with a bar of soap and immediately send those phrases to your conversational graveyard!

Now as I was saying, on my church-finding journey I always want to visit a couple of places that are refined and traditional, but after one or two “dates” I am like “Am I ever going to be able to dance around you” and “Why are all of your friends geriatric?”

Then, occasionally I visit a small, home-grown-country church because my grandmother wants me to. Always a horrible idea. She has an agenda.

Most recently, I blind-church- dated the popular one. This is the church that everyone in town talks about excitedly, assuming it is just what you want. This church is big and strong, has money and always has a lot going on every week. That’s all good, of course except that big and strong makes me feel little and fearful, rich makes me feel awkward like when I go to the Save Haiti Dinner and I have to ask which one is the salad fork. And, when, in the past I have church-dated the congregation that has the most stuff going on every week, I have found that it doesn’t seem to have a lot of time for me. I once went to talk to the pastor at a popular church that I attended at the time. I was crying, confused and in need of a little TLC. So I asked the pastor when I could come in and talk with him about some important issues I was facing and he told me he was booked for the next 3 months. “Look, you can either talk to me right here, right now, find an elder to get with later this week or get on my schedule for 3 months out. But it seems like you’ve got a lot going on here, so I would set up an appt with an elder if I were you, so that you can get the most out of your time." I do not enjoy being pawned off. We "broke up", a few weeks later.

So, in the spirit of success in both church and romance searching, I have created a list of tips for finding your dream church/partner.

1. Seek Divine Counsel. God has good things in store for our futures, period. There is no need to fret when parents are sending pamphlets for every church in town or rambling on about grandchildren. Use the pamphlets for a decoupage project and remind them that you only get to be a grandparent after you really truly stop wanting it. God loves us and is the author and finisher of our faith. If you want to know what happens next, check with the writer.

2. Know Thyself. If you want to puke when someone argues that God is a registered Republican, maybe stay away from First Republican Church in smalltown, USA and the singles group that meets there. You will never agree with everything a person or church says or does, of course but when you sense a profound disconnect (vaguely racist or sexist comments, odd money spending habits, over-emphasis on outer appearances) ask a few clarifying questions and if you aren’t pleased with the answers move on. Life is too short.

3. Be open. Although a gal (or guy) has to know what she or (he) wants, I think all of us can probably think of a time when we scoffed at someone or something and that object of our ridicule ultimately turned out to be the very best thing for us. You will never get to participate in God’s raucous cinematic adventures for your life if you insist on replaying the same stale VHS tape for the next 25 years. Maybe you hated blond hair when you were 12 but you’re 32 now dude, take a risk. Or perhaps you have historically experienced acute sleepyheadedness singing hymns in a liturgical service. But it could it be that these old hymns might have new life for the one who has ears to hear? Seek God. Know Thyself. Be open. Wacky though the journey may be, God has big plans.

Ways My Neuroses Could Be Diminished With A Husband: Essay 1

2011-09-07T14:45:00.000-07:00

** Side Note, I have been trying to post my 50th essay for the past two weekends and kept having technical difficulties, this is not that article, but maybe one day in the near future I will be able to paste that one as well.

I am a woman of many neuroses as evidenced by the following scenarios:

1. I believe inanimate objects to have feelings such that when I was a child I lost sleep over whether it was a privilege for ice-cubes to be selected to cool my drink or a horrifying death for the poor little icey guys and gals.

2. Ever since I learned of its existence in the ninth grade, I cringe when people misuse the subjunctive tense, even though English classes have not done a great job at getting’ the word out. If I WERE a grammar teacher you can bet people would know about it! (See, since I am not a grammar teacher I have to use were rather than was…that is the main subjunctive rule, consider yourself SCHOOLED).

3. I am constantly inappropriately, unfairly and unnecessarily ranking people and things on my various mediums for list-creation,

and

4. I am known to go for days without showering but still cannot stand the thought of dust on my feet . (Don’t even get me started about long walks on the beach, as I would sooner take up cannibalism as a regular pastime than the foot-rape that occurs on the gravelly shores of Texas.)

So, I could be wrong, but I just have a feeling that having a partner in life might whittle some of these neuroses down to a level that I like to think might be barely recognizable to my eventual DSM-wielding Shrink. Let me be clear about something though, when I say a husband could help,I do not mean through some romantic and spiritual process of sharing a space and a life with another human being--the two of us gently sanding down each other’s rough edges like iron sharpening iron. That, sounds horrible! Sandpaper?! Iron!? C’mon people, I am more of a “Kill ‘em with kindness kind of girl.” But, I digress.

My current neurosis fueled dilemma comes as a result of having just bought a book of funny essays by comedian, Jack Handey (that is his real name by the way). And here is my problem. I find it really unsavory when I go into someone’s bathroom and they seem to have a permanent collection of reading material in there. Call me crazy, but do you really want to advertise to the world that your bathroom habits afford you the kind of time to breeze through East of Eden? Why not just walk around in a T-shirt that you have bedazzled with the words “boweltastic” or “I’d rather be pooping”. I myself, have an unhealthy desire to be preoccupied at all times, but when I am in the bathroom I tend to be pretty goal-oriented, not looking for anything to potentially prolong my stay in the room where people go to do everything with their bodies that they are not allowed to do in front of others.

But this book of essays is the perfect bathroom book. The chapters are just a few pages each and it is light-hearted and mostly meaningless. (You do not want to read serious stuff in the bathroom. What happens if you have the most important epiphany of your life but then you can’t share it with anyone because it would involve them getting a mental image of your underwear hanging down around your feet while you sit on the toilet? Don’t do that to yourself, dude.) Anyway, I am standing there today, gazing into my restroom, hands trembling as I tried to figure out whether or not I cared so little about Jack Handey as an artist that I could take the chance of exposing his work to the invisible but certain cloud of bacteria that is sure to linger in that room, just to give my (apparently) soft-stomached friends a chuckle. But my pride would not let me do it. I cannot have people thinking that I am in the bathroom frequently and enduringly enough to need diversion.

But, if on the other hand, I had a husband, I could just roll my eyes when it came up in conversation like I am always seeing wives do. “Oh, the Jack Handey Book”, I would say condescendingly when it came up in conversation. “I have told Mr. Gosling how unseemly that looks but you gotta let’em win sometimes, am I right ladies?” Then me and all my snotty wife friends would have a laugh at our poor husbands’ expense and go back to playing canasta. I am not sure why I picture myself married in 1958 but I just do sometimes, especially when I am feeling particularly sexist. Plus, I always picture myself using the catch phrase “am I right ladies” a lot more liberally as I will finally have more things in common with my gender about which to commiserate.

But since I am not married, I have some decisions to make about this bathroom turned library debacle, so, Should I:

A. Elope with a Stranger providing he is willing to take the rap for my Jack Handey Book Sitting next to the toilet.

B. Fashion a stand that sits just outside the bathroom door, allowing guests to self-select whether they take the book inside with them.

C. Put the book in the bathroom with a huge-fake- sticky note on the front that says this:
Hey Girl, I got this book and thought of you, but I left it here in the bathroom just to get under your skin. I know both your tastes and your pet peeves so well. Don’t you dare take this book out of the bathroom or I will break up with you. Love, Your Totally Real Boyfriend,
Leif Luke Tyler McRealenstein

P.S. This is what I look like in case you forgot

Let me know what you think, because I am definitely probably doing whichever one gets the most votes.

All The Women Independent...

2011-08-22T07:34:00.000-07:00

We created The Independent Woman’s Association (IWA) when I was a Freshman in high school, because , as I am sure you know, one doesn’t just wakeup angsty one day-- at least I didn’t. For me, angst is genetic—it has been a part of my DNA since before I was born. When I was a child I had traditional worries like being kidnapped or experiencing the death of a parent. I also had less traditional concerns like a nagging suspicion that I was a social experiment dropped into a fake family being paid to feign some level of affection for me while scientists outside the home watched my every move through the windows of our double-wide trailer. And of course, I always, always have had plenty of worries about boys.
In first grade I was in love with my neighbor, Fred Savage. He was a fifth-grader and I worried that he would let the age difference come between us.
In third grade, there was a new boy at school who looked like an eight year old Bill Clinton—thankfully his escapades were nothing like that of the President’s, but he did have his charm. We were all head-over-heels in love with him but obviously only one of us could have him. This worried me.
In fifth grade I was the only one of my friends who did not have a “date” to the annual Country and Western Dance at my elementary school so I began to think, and this is a direct quote from my journal , that I was “ugly as a gorilla and fat as a pig”.

By seventh grade, I was certain that there had never been another individual on God’s green earth who had waited this long for a suitor and I hate to be catty but some girls who were even uglier than me were already pregnant by eighth grade. The world can really be unfair sometimes.

And when the world is unfair, we as humans have to make meaning of it all somehow—it is our only shot at angst management. So it makes sense that one day, while all of our friends were presumably busy making out with their fancy junior and senior boyfriends and as Amanda and I sat there in world geography bemoaning our single ladyness we had a shared stroke of genius.

Shouldn’t we get a little credit for this consistent demonstration of feminine independence—a lifetime achievement award of sorts? I mean for all of our able-bodied lives we had been the type of women who carried our own books, picked our own flowers, bought our own stuff and taught our own selves how to kiss (shout out to all of our old pillows and stuffed animals, btw).

Yes, we should be awarded! We should get to be just as proud of ourselves for abstaining (by default) from romantic relationships as our girlfriends who nabbed that hot tuba player or chess club vice pres.. (We weren’t the absolute coolest group in the world.) And thus the IWA was created.

The Rules:

1. Each of our girlfriends, having at one time been an independent woman can be members
2. ONLY those of us without boyfriends can hold office in the IWA
3. Offices will be determined by length of time since the candidate’s last relationship. Ex:
                     President=August Angst: No boyfriend ever
             Vice President= Amanda: Boyfriendless since Kinder
                       Treasurer= Liv Tyler, No BF since eighth grade.
                        Members= Amy , Juliette Lewis and eventually Gwyneth P.
This silly little club gave us lunchroom fodder, something to be mock-proud of when we were single and some crumb of happiness to offer each other when one of us got our heart’s broken: “Well at least you will move up in the IWA ranks,” we would say each time we heard about the dissolution of one of our friends’ relationships. It was the perfect existential expression for our teenager dilemmas.
It should come as no surprise though that as soon as Amanda and I finally got boyfriends we included rule 4.

4. Boys are allowed to me honorary members of the IWA if they are single and committed to its aims OR if they are dating one of the members.
Both of those boyfriends did turn out to be gay and everything, but at the time they did wonders not only for our confidence but for our wardrobe and hair choices as well.

Today the IWA status looks like this:

Liv, Amanda, Gwyneth- Husbands
Juliette: Divorced with Boyfriend
Amy : Cohabitating with Boyfriend
Me: Boyfriendless
And if I was still 14 or if I didn’t have some way to make meaning of it all—It might really suck. But writing for you all each week makes this time of life practically angstless. And for that reason I proudly sign this essay with my full blog name and the credentials I have worked hard (by default) to earn,

Ms. August Angst, President IWA Established: 1996

And I just decided we are now taking New Members, so if you think you meet the qualifications, please "throw yo' hands up at me" in the comments section!
Also, in the mood for something a little more serious from August Angst? Check out my recent review of The Help on a new Spiritual Cinema Page or just click here.
K

The Problem with Prayer

2011-08-14T14:36:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I visited an old church of mine, I’d say I was a member there about a decade ago. I love visiting old friends, especially those who have guided me on my faith journey, but in all honesty sometimes it gets a little awkward when a defining characteristic of the relationship is hell avoidance. Here’s why…

So I walk back into this old church-building and in almost no time the correspondence secretary has found me. She needs my new email she says so that she can add me once again to the church email prayer list. Panic Strikes! I cannot be on another prayer list I scream to myself! Then again I also have too much pride to decline, I should really pray about that pride issue, but after I only if I figure out how to get out of this prayer nightmare!!!! I subtlety survey the room just to see how many people here I even know and to determine how frequently the people that I don ’t know are going to have requests.

He looks depressed about something
She is a broken hip waiting to happen
They are probably trying to get pregnant
Those four will be going off to college soon and will leave behind panicky parents.

Email lady sensed my hesitation.

I don’t send any junkmail she assured me, no jokes, no riddles, just our prayer digests, I think she gave a time-line too like “its about once a month or once a week.” It didn’t matter because I know there is no such thing as efficient prayer digests because the nature of a request is that it is new and urgent. No one says, I won’t need any divine intervention for the next 3 weeks but pencil me in for a quick one-liner around the 18th.

I can’t tell you the number of ways I’ve tried to organize my prayer life…I’ve tried “spirit-led” aka pray for one person and then fall asleep. I’ve tried day-of-the-week-prayers where Monday is family prayer day. Tuesday is work prayer day, Wednesday is church prayer day, etc. etc. I’ve tried keeping a prayer board where I pull out the names of several people from several categories of life each day until everyone is prayed for at the end of the week. And I have tried general, “protect my family, church, friends and precarious sitcom programming from all danger.” I have disappointed myself in every one of these prayer methods.

Currently these are the prayer numbers I am working with:

Family: 24

Church Family: around 60

Ministries I work with: Around 60

Friends who don’t fit in other categories: Around 30

So what is a well-meaning, Christian girl supposed to do when someone asks her to be on their prayer team? I can tell you what I wanted to do: I wanted to say no thank you I think you guys have it covered, I already have a lot of other people to pray for and unlike that show-off God, time is limited for me, you might have thought from my chaste lifestyle that I have become a nun, I assure you this is not the case though I understand the confusion. Thank you for considering me worthy of approaching God on behalf of this group but for now I’ll pass. Please don’t make me feel like I am a devil-worshipper for responding in this way. But if you do think my soul is corrupted, maybe you could add me in with all those other requests? (Flash Adorable Smile).

And I can tell you what I actually did: “Sure, of course, How can you turn down prayer opportunities, but NO jokes right? ‘Cause I hate jokes, I just want the prayer. (Flash adorable smile)

That was 5 weeks ago, I have received 26 emails. This is the problem with prayer. Has anyone out there solved this problem? Or does everyone else just have a way better relationship with JChrizzy (Jesus’ rap name) than me? LMK.

Funny Ladies: The Best Fake Friends

2011-08-08T08:15:00.000-07:00

You know that thing where you use all your single-lady freedom to purposefully transport all of your belongings 4 hours away from most of your friends and family, making it only logical to go ahead and get a job nearer to all of your things and then to have the mail forwarded to this new , but out of the way storage facility? Yeah, well, that’s the situation I got goin’ here right now and if you’re not prepared, it can kinda suck. Which is why, I find It very important in times like these to have a few fictional friends on which you can rely at the end of the day when you might otherwise, were it not for their company, be found writhing around on the floor in a vat of all your old, but newly tear-stained, photos of your real-life compadres.

So, I have a sort of “sista’s are doin’ it for themeselves” television programming theme to provide these little imaginary and purgatorical friendships offering me a good laugh or cry whilst my soul is being torn between two real communities—the one that I look longingly back on and the one I look eagerly toward.

Below are my 3 most current recommendations for girl-power boxed sets sure to make you feel like you have friends you can count on even when you’ve abandoned all your friends.

1. Gilmore Girls

You might be thinking to yourself “didn’t that show come on the CW?” You are correct oh snobby one and I was right there with ya until I moved in with my friend Taylor Swift a few years ago. Taylor was a huge GG fan and I was a huge Swift fan so I dialed down my sense of television selection superiority only to find that this little gem of a show had stolen my heart with its small town charm, bad boy love interests like Milo Ventimiglia and a tribute to the deep affections, mild annoyances and shades and shades of crazy that characterize intimate female relationships. Is the witty banter a little over-the-top? Yes. Is the mother-daughter relationship a little suspect and even off-putting? Yes. Will you fall in love with the show anyway? Yes. If you give it a fair shake I think you will find that Lorelai and Rori Gilmore might just become your new, fake besties.

2. Golden Girls & Designing Women

I think we all know that the original girls were Golden not Gilmore and when I was a child I wanted to pattern my life after one Julia Sugarbaker from Designing Women. You can catch reruns of both on lifetime if you can’t spring for the boxed set, making this the economical choice when it comes to your development of faux-friendships. But just because they are the cheapest doesn’t mean they don’t come through for a girl. You don’t think Betty White earned her fame doing Lake Placid do ya? And if you have not recently delighted in the comedic timing of Bea Arthur it is time to do so. Take a trip down eighties lane every now and again. Have fun with the ladies and see how many guest stars you can spot with old wacky hair-dos. I’m lookin’ at you Mario Lopez.

3. Desperate Housewives

I said the day would never come. When my sister announced that she was a fan of the show, I catapulted right onto the pedastool that I had affixed atop my high horse so that I could really do the most thorough job of looking down my nose at her. “This is exactly what is wrong with America” I screamed psychotically. “What is soooooo desperate about being a housewife? We are all just supposed to feel sorry for the hellish existence of staying home to take care of your kids and husband? I will NEVER watch a show with such an offensive title. N-E-V-E-R.”

Funny thing about “never”…it is probably always an overstatement when you are talking about something as inconsequential as primetime television programming. And so, a few months ago when I was beginning to pre-mourn my move away from bff and landlord Laura, I started plopping down on the couch next to her despite her seeming approval of the breakdown of American society as it pertains to honoring and respecting domestic and family-centered work as a fulfilling role for women in today’s society. As it turns out. D.H. is a beautifully written character dramedy from a fresh, unique and woman-honoring perspective. I contend that it is more about the desperation of being human than being a wife and mother but it is well done all the same. The girls of Wisteria lane are keeping me laughing and thinking this week as I come home to an otherwise companionless space.

So, check out these programs if you haven’t already. Or if you still live in the same town as your gal pals have a girls night with them--celebrate one another. Throw a party!
And if you did throw this party and invited everyone you knew, you would see the biggest gift would be from me and the card attached would say,

Thank You for bein’a Frie-eh-end.

T.G.I.S.

2011-07-24T08:20:00.000-07:00

I hate painting walls--especially the edging, AND I am a horrible driver-- especially in vehicles that accommodate more than 4 bodies comfortably AND I avoid shopping, especially when the products are things like engineered wood and throw pillows.

In these and many other ways I am pretty much useless. And the problem with that is that I have no default…

And by default, I mean partner.
And by partner, I mean person who ultimately feels responsible for me and to me…

I have been noticing recently how often people are on the phone with their spouses. The conversations are exhausting but beautiful, because no matter what is happening in their life, their default needs and wants to know about it.

Toilet overflows, call your default.

You’re thinking about going on an Alaskan Cruise? Check the dates with your default.
Had the worst day at work and could use a shoulder rub, default at your service!

But for me it is different because I never really know who is going to come through for me in all my plumbing, travel and “everything is going to be alright” sort of needs. There is no one on this planet for whom, I am their number one concern.

This used to really depress me.

After all, I am the girl who, at times, finds it difficult to be in a relationship with God because I know that I am not his favorite. But recently as I have been preparing to move, I have also been noticing something else. In my defaultlessness there has been this wave of me-centered husbandry. People have:

Put me up in their home
Given me their furniture
Painted my walls
Cleaned my toilets
Jumped up and down at my good news
Saved materials for me
Thrown me parties
Written letters of reference
Bought me Stuff
Driven four hours for me
Prayed
Inquired
Toted my things from here to there, and
Said, “Please Don’t Go.”

And all of a sudden I find myself wondering if I haven’t been misinterpreting life for all these single years. Because in this moment it seems not like God doesn’t love me enough. But rather, that his love is so abundant toward me that it wouldn’t even fit it one frail little human body ( I do like my men pretty skinny, after all). So vast are his affections toward me, it would seem, that they require an abundance of human vessels to be demonstrated appropriately. So today I am saying T.G.I.S. --Thank God I’m Single so that I might know and receive this depth and breadth of love.

And, Thank God it is Sunday, the day each week when I practice remembering to be thankful for all that I have and all that I am spared.

So, Thank you and Happy Sunday.

Too Love or Not To Love?

2011-07-02T14:53:00.000-07:00

So I have this beautiful, sage-ish single-lady friend who tells me that she thinks my single-lady days might be coming to a close in the not-so-distant future. I know the appropriate response is to back-handspring myself into joyous oblivion until I vomit-up and out all of the anxious and despairing remnant of singleness’ bitter footprint in my life, but the analytical side of me believes a more measured response is worth some consideration. So, here it is, my pre-emptive PRO –CON list for starting a romantic relationship should this as of yet still imaginary dream-man waltz into my life as per the prediction.

Con # 1 “Talking”

I know this term was at the time, short-lived and at present completely archaic, but it is the only term I know to describe the variable time-period of testicle less (that is me trying to church up “no-balls”) Bull-manure (I think you know what I mean) that young men put young women through as they try and decipher if they are willing to fulfill the astonishing commitments of young love including: some amount of talking on the phone, saying feelings out loud occasionally and declining to make-out with other people should the opportunity arise. These decisions take time, understandably. But, I am hoping that in the adult world this stage is pretty much bypassed. On the other hand…

Pro # 1 “Talking”

There is something to not knowing exactly where things stand. I know that makes me a horrible woman, childish even-- but how much time can you really spend wistfully analyzing a statement like, “I am completely interested in you, have no reservations about starting a dating relationship and in the appropriate amount of time I will be eager to discuss marriage which I see as a likely conclusion to this relationship.” Pardon my bawdiness, but that just isn’t very sexy. Instead, it seems that the tension between, “he loves me, he loves me not” is part of the satisfaction. Possibly even something to look forward to, so I suppose the concept of “talking” is ultimately a draw. On to the next con, then

Con #2 Listening to, Watching and Participation in “Boy Stuff”

I am just going to say it. In my opinion, sexist though it may be, a lot of boys like a lot of stupid stuff. These are things I do not look forward to when I think about committing to a dude: Video games, listening to him describe “sweet chord progressions”, camping, more video games, basketball seasons, action movies, hiking, and debates about the merits of video games. But then again…

Pro # 2 Guys are Friggin’ Hilarious.

In high school I dated a guy (kinda-sorta), we’ll call him Joe Jonas. Jonas used to leave messages on my private phone line each night. He would talk in phoney voices and say things like, “ Yeah, I’m Hiram bates down at the air-conditioner store, uh yeah I been getting a lot of complaints round your parts sayin’ that you been getting’ all heated up, bustin’ out air-conditioner units and such ‘cause of all that heat you’re putting out thinkin’ about a boy named Joe in your Spanish class.”

It was sooooo stupid.

But it made me laugh—the commitment was funny more than anything else, 3 or 4 messages in a row each far longer than they needed to be.

Then there was D.J. Qualls who I’ve mentioned before, he was famous (in my mind) for his ability to publicly and charmingly humiliate me with classic tricks like backing his butt into my and hand and then yelling with mock incredulity, “Kerri, that is wildly inappropriate . I am saving myself ma’am. Please take your hand of my left buttock, Walmart is not the place for that kind of forward behavior.”

Again, I am not saying, they are all geniuses, but a lot of ‘em seem do seem to make me giggle. So the pros have it on this one, but…

Con # 3 Single-Lady Cred

A major con that I cannot deny, when it comes to considering commitment is this: What about my persona as a single-lady-extraordinaire? This blog, for example, would take a drastic turn if I started falling-in-like. It would put me in a bit of comedic-limbo because there just isn’t a lot of funny stuff about having a boyfriend. New marriage seems pretty funny, kids are hilarious, having a boyfriend, not so much. So I kinda need to stay single for the good of my writing—this is bad news! However,

Pro # 3 Good Writing Does Come From Passion

Being in a relationship might not be particularly novel, but it does seem to bring forth a full-spectrum of emotions—and emotions create stories, which stewarding writers bring forth into the world. And, there is so much more opportunity for all manner of bringing forth within the context of collaboration. So, maybe I give up a little independent credibility for the chance at interdependent procreation. That doesn’t sound so bad, which means the scale is tipped slightly in favor of love.

But, in case the oracle is right, I should be humble enough to seek guidance on this issue. You should weigh-in. What do you think are the pros and cons of love? Desperately seeking your commentary,

Kerri

This is Why I Love Him...

2011-06-19T01:18:00.000-07:00

Is it cliche to be a religious single gal from Texas who writes entire blog posts about how Jesus is her boyfriend? Yes. And I am not going to do that here. Because, Jesus is not my boyfriend and even if he were, I wouldn't tell people! Because in my opinion it is somewhat creepy to get into a romantic trist with the author and finisher of your faith.

My next-door buddy Shaun White doesn't even like it when I say that hot celebrities look like Jesus because it gives him such a case of the heebie-jeebies! And I'll admit, I think that's a fair response. But I also think that he ought to admit that Russel Brand does look a heck of a lot like our bastardized approximation of the Savior and does happen to be a Hottie Mchotterson. Same with long-haired Jared Leto and Jim Cavezal, obviously.

But, I digress

The point is, I do love Him--J.C. that is.

And I remembered why today when I ran into an old elementary school friend of mine, who I will call 4th grade Lindsay Lohan. Li'l LiLo as I rememeber her was always small, generally over or underclothed and seemingly exhausted. One Fall she was invited to my Halloween party and I don't know if there was a miscommunication between she and her parents or what, but I do remember that I could hear them screaming at her over the phone and that she seemed genuinely afraid to go home. But home she had to go, and we all had to share in her embarrassment as we drove up to her dilapidated, dirty only house only to leave her with an equally dilapidated, dirty old man whose tone had not softened one iota by the time we got there.

If I ever hung out with Li'l Lilo again, I can't recall it. Then she seemed to disappear in middle and highschool and though I never had proof that she was being abused I always worried and wondered as I passed her house on the street. A couple of years ago they tore the house down and I thought, "Poor Lindsay, she didn't have a chance at anything good in life."

Fast Forward to the Drive-Through at Bushes Chicken this afternoon where I see her for the first time in at least 12 years. She is driving a mini-van with a little girl in the front seat who is beautiful, reminscent of her mother and appears perfectly clothed and rested. "Lindsay", I say " I think of you every time I pass your house from when we were little and I wonder how you are doing." I am trying to hide the terror in my voice that is actually saying "I see your old house and I weep because I was too young to know how to help you escape that hellish existence that I got a glimpse of." But she seems to know what I mean. "Things are really good", she assures me. "My husband was the pastor of a church out of town for a while but now we are back here at New Life."

How Fitting.

Listen, I know that going to church or being a pastor's wife doesn't mean that life is perfect. But I thought Lohan would be dead, strung-out or prostituting the next time I saw her. Instead she was casually purchasing chicken, being a mom and participating in groups like "You May not like me but Jesus thinks I'm to Die for". (Yes,I Facebook Stalked her). That scared little girl who I say a prayer for every so often is ok. Saved even! Not just in the next life, but in this one.

This is why I love Him.

Not because he is my pretend date or looks anything like one Mr. Katy Perry. But because he offers to Lindsay and to me:

Hope.
Rescue.
New Life, Indeed.

And you? What percentage of your (assumed) affection toward Jesus has to do with hotness and what percentage derives from something substantive like that touching story that I just recalled? Its not a contest or anything, but your soul might be in danger if you answer incorrectly.

Grandma Buzzkill Hates Hangover!

2011-06-05T08:08:00.000-07:00

Grandma Buzzkill is a nickname I gave myself a few years back when I was desperately trying to convince my small-group to avoid the hookah smoking. I sent them all an email about the dangers associated with this "harmless" passtime and immediately acknowledged my own twenty-something octogenarianness. I can't help myself, I was born with an interesting marriage of child-like frivolity and uptight prudishness and it can be hard to know which one will win out in any given situation. As I was writing the movie reviews that I hinted at last week it was apparent that it was a GB kind of day. So be forewarned, the following are my honest but at times old-ladyish opinions about the world of film today. Here goes!

Something Borrowed:
If you love adultery and think we have not done enough to promote it in this country, then you will love Something Borrowed. It does everything possible to communicate to its audience that ultimately you should just take what you want regardless of the implications for other people. Look, I believe that art is all about perspective and I deeply appreciate a filmmaker who forces me to consider something empathically,which would typically be outside my capacity for grace; but this movie didn't really do that. And it's a shame, because the first three quarters of the film is hilarious, particularly due to the work of one Mr. John Krasinski. (Yes, he is the same dorky, boy next door character who we are supposed to believe struggles with the ladies.) Rent it if you want a laugh or are writing a paper entitled how-to become an awful human who uses his or her own former disempowerment as an excuse for their current relational aggression. However, as an editing note, I might suggest a shorter title.

Bridesmaids
My biggest fear going into this movie was that it was going to be a bunch of women trying to one-up their (male) comedic competition with feats of vulgarity. Happily, that was only the case once or twice. I really liked this movie and considered it to be just a few depressing songs away from being an interesting indie flick commenting on the grief we each work through in all of the many non-death losses we experience throughout our lives.Kristen Wiig is very funny and relatable in this role and the writing does an excellent job of exposing, diseccting and celebrating female relationships in lots of silly and serious ways. There is a lot of "taking it to the limit" in this movie which is how my friends and I used to describe letting a joke go on and on in order to milk every last laugh out of it. I happen to like a joke that requires a bit of endurance, so that was delightful for me as well. My only crochety caution for this movie is SPOILER ALERT : the first scene is unnecessarily raunchy and being someone who believes that it degrades us to watch other humans having sex, even for a laugh, I think you could easily go into this movie 3 minutes late, keep a little dignity for yourself and not miss any important content other than the dude is a selfish jerk.

The Hangover Part II
It pains me to say it people. I just want to be clear here and admit that I watched the original Hangover three times in the theater, and several times on DVD after purchasing it. However, part 2 just did not cut it. It wasn't very good. Zach Galifinakis seemed to have more lines and I was less annoyed with Mr. Cho now that I have fallen in love with him on Community. But other than that the movie was actually kinda boring. My BFF pointed out that it seemed more fragmented this time, it also seemed to have less urgency and also less Bradley Cooper in a suit. Why in God's name would you make a movie that is the exact same as the original in practically every way only to omit a Bradley Cooper in a suit scene? Doesn't make no sense. Never will. Also, surprise-surprise, I thought it was too vulgar and I didn't even stay for the credits which I hear is the worst part.

So, there is the movie-world according to Grandma Buzzkill. Hope it will be of help to you in your movie selection and rejection process. What do you all think? Am i right? Am I 87? Do you have any movie commentary you would like to provide? Comments Section!

Kerri

Summer Cinema 2011

2011-05-29T08:32:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up I found movie theaters to be the most counter-intuitive, ill-advised, and freak-fest sanctioning arenas frequented by normal, everyday people. As a half-white anglo saxon protestant, I experienced a significant amount of distress at willingly walking into and setting up camp in a dark room with strangers. I am pretty sure my grandmother explicity warned me about being fooled into these types of scenarios, but even my own family on the occasional thrill-seeking endeavor, threw caution to the wind and plopped down in front of that grotesque amount of screen.

What was most disturbing to me though, were the exit doors to the right and left of mega-screen. In the theater where I grew up, the doors exited immediately to the outside world and being either unaware of or confused by the concept of one-way-locks, I beleived that people could easily sneak in through those haunting frames and thus watched each film in the knowledge that it would likely be interrupted by real-life mass-murder. Plus you can't talk in movie theaters.

As I got older, trips to the cinema became more frequent and I learned to numb-out of the experience somewhat (newer, less-horrifying theaters and boyfriends seemed to help). And I am either happy or ashamed to report that at this point in my existence a complete metamorphisis has occurred. I will watch almost anything at the movies with the right guest. As an adult I always buy concessions as a way of retroactively giving the finger to my perceived childhood poverty and the chance to shut up and just have a shared experience with someone in a higly air-conditioned room is like a gift dropped directly into my lap by one of God's most insignificant brand of angels.

And guess what, it is summer babies!!!!

I am sorry that for some of you this means nothing, but for me it means FREEDOM. And how better to use that freedom than to grab some nachos, some friends and a room of (almost certainly) non-felons to watch a movie. Below is a list of my plans for summer cinema. I have crossed off those that I have already completed and you can look forward to some reviews in the near future.

Kerri's Summer Flick Super Plans

~~Something Borrowed~~
~~Bridesmaids~~
Everything Must Go
The Hangover Part II (Seeing it Today)
Conan O'Brien Can't Stop
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II
Friends With Benefits (Don't worry, I am ashamed)
Crazy Stupid Love

Year of Angst

2011-05-15T06:54:00.000-07:00

There is something worse than a nightmare you know. It is called a dream-- specifically a dream that can never be realized. A nightmare is terrible of course, but ultimately you wake up relieved. A dream, on the other hand, is lovely, but you wake up disenchanted, dejected and depressed. Because, as it turns out, your couch is not made of a never-ending supply of avocados, your boyfriend did not change his mind about the break up and that loved one is still gone. In short, dreams remind you that real life can be a real sucksville.
I don't bring this up for nothing. I bring it up mostly to get your sympathy and then later to make a point. You see, a couple of days ago, just before daybreak, I myself, dreamed a little dream. It wasn't a kooky dream where nothing makes sense. In fact, I would say that everything in it was perfectly :

plausible--
legitimate --
possiby even too legit too quit --
But you be the judge:

1. Ryan Gosling was my boyfriend.
2. He worked as a teacher for hyperactive & blind children.
3. I had rejected his love and left him heartbroken.
4. When I walked in his classroom to ask for his forgiveness, my presence made him nervous (in a good way) And Finally,
5. I calmed his nerves by going over to kiss him

THEN, just at that very moment, the sun crested and my stupid (but impeccable) body-clock woke me up seconds BEFORE my Gosling Smoochfest. And I know this is pathetic but the discrepancy between that dream and the world I was waking up to had me slumped over on my couchbed and crafting a poem reminiscent of Jewel circa 1996.

I had been sucker-punched by my own subconscious and it got me thinking about other sorts of dreams...

Some of the waking dreams (as in aspirations) that we have in life are quite ethereal and ever outside of our grasp so we rely mostly on divine intervention (that goes above and beyond just daily graces) to realize these desires. On the other hand, there are some dreams that we can run ahead and take hold of without a tremendous amount of "perfect timing", "connections" "Hell freezing over" etc. I like doing that---
running after,
grasping for,
hurtling toward.

I've decided to keep doing those things in this life of profound single-lady freedom. It was one year ago yesterday that I went to a Conan O'Brien show, ran into old friends and found the voice for August Angst. In a very short time, I realized that I loved these little essays more than mostly everything else that I did. I only hated that I could give it but a fraction of my time and thus ended up wtih work that quantitatively and qualitatively reflect that amount of energy.

So I want more. It has been my experience that all that running, grasping hurtling stuff can be off-putting in the romantic realm as men seem to frighten easily. But everywhere else in life it has served me quite well. So, as most of you Angsters know. This August, I am moving to the country, taking a breath from the over-commitment that is my way and taking hold of some lifetime dreams to include a few major writing projects.

I am not 100% sure what that will ultimately mean for lil Baby Angst here, but for now just keep reading this summer! Regardless of the future, I do want to thank you for reading and thus being a part of one of the most clarifying years of my life. Now go have a piece of birthday cake in celebration of this momentous occasion. I recommend something with salted caramel.

Con Mucho Amor,
Kerri

2011-05-08T05:56:00.000-07:00

These are our Mothers

A soft place to fall,
a bed to crawl into
on thunderous Thursday mornings when lightning collides with the earth—

A curvaceous glass pitcher
of iced mint tea
refreshing souls on sultry Sundays in June.

A well worn ladle
delivering steaming soup to hungry little bellies around the room,
chicken noodle, minestrone, creamy potato—

The unsolicited advice
that we can’t help but follow,
the women we unwittingly become.

Need Help with a Wedding?

2011-04-17T14:29:00.000-07:00

You know, the economy is precarious at the moment and it wouldn’t hurt any of us to take a look at our experiences and qualifications should the need to make a creativecareer shift arise. After another smashing vow swap and dance party last evening (thanks Brad and Zoeey, formerly Silverman) I realized my (back-up) calling in life, although how I am coming to this entrepreneurial realization so late in life is beyond me.

I have served proudly in weddings all across the state of Texas and beyond. I have worn countless (10) dresses, but just for the one time. Sorry Brides you are not fooling anyone with that “wear it again” line. And all these years of showers and ceremonies and receptions and reflection has not left this girl without a pretty hefty Wedding Party skill-set. I think I am now ready to take this show on the road—systematize it, sell it for profit and de-intimatize it as is a custom of my generation. Check out my new Vitae and let me know what you think!

August Angst Vitae

Wedding Party Participant Extraordinaire

Previous Positions (Some dates and Locations Approximated)

• Jr. Bridesmaid (and sister of the Bride): Temple Texas, September 1996

• Jr. Bridesmaid, Copperas Cove Texas, Summer 1998

• Bridesmaid, Temple Texas, Summer 2001

• Bridesmaid, San Antonio Texas, March 2004

• Hostess with the Mostest(aka: House Party Crew): Houston Texas, Summer 2005

• Maid of Honor, Brownwood Texas, February 2006

• Bridesmaid, Wimberley Texas, Summer 2006

• Bridesmaid, Albanyish NY, Summer 2007

• Maid of Honor, Belton Texas, Fall 2007

• Bridesmaid, Austin Texas, March 2011

What I Do:

• Emotional Pep Talks & Reality Checks-Brides sometimes get the jitters – Do you think my mom’s alright? Should we do cake and then speeches or speeches and then cake? Can you even tell I’ve lost 35 pounds? Can you believe how great I look since I lost 1.5 pounds? How many more pounds do you think I can lose before the wedding?

They need a wordsmith around to reframe and affirm as needed, i.e.

I think your mom is overwhelmed with the love she has for you right now sweetie and isn’t it a gift for all of us to witness such profound affection from a mother to her child. Speeches first, cake second. You are tiny, I can barely see your waist. I am so glad you didn’t overdo it with the dieting---you look like freaking Kate Winslet on Titanic. I guess you could lose a pound a week or so but let’s keep in mind that you are pregnant so maybe we should just showcase the boobs. They can’t all be fairytales, people!

• Awkward Garment and Body Arranging- Brides cannot do a d**n thing for themselves. Not because they are ignorant or slave-driving but because they are in a corset (that you put them in) with wet nails and a fragile up-do. So you can’t be afraid of a little necessary groping or of helping another grown woman go pee. And I am happy to report that each and every one of my ten brides have walked proudly down the aisle absent of any urine stains. And most of them have made their sojourn to the altar comfortable in the knowledge that their severe discomfort (what with the two bras, spanx and 3 layers of itchy petticoat) has made this the most beautiful day of their lives.

• Crazy Relative Mgmt and Damage Control- Brides, for the most part, have a crazy relative or two whose blood connection has granted them access to be near the bride in the intimate and sacred moments of her wedding day. For this reason, they need a regulator. Someone has to tell Aunt Janice that she cannot bring her cat to the reception as her niece has a blotch inducing sensitivity to dander. Someone has to keep the divorcees apart and flirt with grandpa so that his old people tears (sweet though they may be) do not send the bride into ugly-cry right before her groom first lays eyes on her. That person is me, I am not afraid to send someone out of the room, ban pets or to use my feminine wiles for the greater good.

• Reception Dance Promotion-It is hard to get your reception on when nobody is getting krunk. I don’t know what that means, but I do know it is best when people are getting’ jiggy wit it at receptions. And I jig. I will two-step until I am body rolling and body roll my way all throughout the cupid shuffle. I can’t promise 100% attendance on sappy slow dances, but listen the groomsmen have got to be responsible for something. The point is every party needs a designated dancer and I am happy to be that for you. ( As long as we are still talking reception here. I do not do Bachelor parties. And speaking of my what I don’t do…)

What I Don’t Do: I will keep it short and sweet.

• Encourage Stupid Purchases- You will not here me tell a bride that she NEEDS a third dessert for her 2 vegan cousins that might fly in from Vermont. It is your day and they are used to it. Forget about miss manners, think about how starving children in Burundi might view this moral dilemma.

• That Juvenile Lingerie Shower Game: You know the one where whatever the bride says later comes back as a double entendre about the wedding night. So she describes the negligee as cute and little and everyone is expected to keal over in laughter when you think about if the bride had really been saying that about her new husband’s genitalia instead. Yeah, I won’t laugh. This is a non-negotiable. It is a stupid game and I cannot encourage its proliferation.

• Pretty Much any Details: If we were to use a film analogy, bridesmaids are the “character actresses” in a wedding. They are meant to deliver snappy lines, look interesting rather than pretty, bring a little diversity to the pictures and get sassy as needed. It is really more of a performing art, less roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty kind-of-thing. So, if you are looking for someone to recount the programs a milliion times or make sure the chairs line up evenly, I think you are looking for a stage manager (wedding planner) or some child actors (little siblings). Otherwise I am happy to be at your service.
Areas for Growth-there are a few positions I have not fulfilled in my 14 years of wedding participation, but I am willing to learn and work hard in each of the following roles:

• Flower Girl

• Ring Bearer

• Reader

• Singer

• Officiant

And it seems like there is one more still floatin’ around out there,

Oh yeah!

• Bride

So just if you know anyone expressing a need for any of these positions, send them on over. Thanks to everyone who has helped build my resume along the way!

Kerri

The Happiest, Saddest Day

2011-04-03T07:20:00.000-07:00

There is this episode of Friends that Amy Adams and I like to quote when pals of ours get married. In this particular scene Phoebe and Rachel learn of Monica’s engagement and tabulate their percentage of happiness versus their percentage of jealousy beginning at a promising 90% happy to 10% jealous and (through a journey of neurotic self perseveration) ending up at around 60/40. As two relatively long-time single ladies Amy and I can relate. Occasionally you think to yourself how in the world did that mustachioed dictator of a woman get a ring on it before I did?!?! But sometimes you are really not jealous at all (okay maybe like 2% but that hardly even counts just like in milk).

Sometimes, like last night when Amy’s brother got married you are just in soul shaking shock. Amy’s brother (whose celebrity pseudonym should be Conan but I reference the real Conan too frequently for that to work) has been a friend for the last 22 of my 28 years. We have seen each other toiling and searching and laughing and loving. We have made fun of each other and stood up for one another and then made fun of each other some more. We have had water wars, trampoline contests, secrets, surprises, lake-house trips, haircuts, cross-country moves, and divine moments on the big front porch when God sent extra portions of food and conversation with a gracious breeze to hover over us in our communing.

And I thought about all those things and when everything had quieted down at the rehearsal dinner I said to his family: “I think I’ve changed my mind. Maybe we shouldn’t let him get married tomorrow.” And his mom nodded in understanding “We just don’t like change. It has been this way for a long time.” And it is true. That is the problem with some of these weddings-- It isn’t so much that you want what they have so much as you want them—unchanged untampered with for worse or even for better. You want them to be in your personal collection of people or at the very least be available for checkout in some sort of shared human library—and here they have gone and been claimed permanently by someone else. And it doesn’t even really matter that the person doing the claiming is kind and good humored and willing to share the appropriate parts of your old pal with you (such as the case with this particular marriage). It is just the idea that the way it has always been is gone from one joyous moment at the altar to the next making this the happiest, saddest day.

And I have a lot of experience with things getting even better than you imagined in new chapters of life, so I have faith that the same will be true as my earliest and closest family of friends marry off without me. I suppose I will have to find a few more solitary single-lady adventures to keep up with all the rampant 100% happiness in the air. And I believe those adventures might be just around the corner.

Wishing you all more august and less angst as you navigate the joy and pain of change,

Kerri

Getting to Know You

2011-03-20T07:37:00.000-07:00

The other day I was hanging out with 2 of my Neighbly kids talking about life and choices and relationships and as we chatted and questioned and laughed at one another a theme seemed to emerge in our conversation--which is to say they both think I am boy-crazy. I think this is hilarious since they have never actually seen me with a boy, but nevertheless they rated me just slightly more evolved than a junior high girl when it comes to my affections for gentleman.

I won't deny it.

I have said it before and I will say it again. I love boys from cradle to grave. They are gorgeous, hilarious and fascinating little creatures and I don't think I will ever fully get over their existence on the very same planet that I inhabit. What Luck!

That said, I am also pretty impressed with women (never fear this is not an inapporopriately executed out of the closet type announcement) I'm just saying that there is this profound strength and beauty that eminates from so many of the women that I have admired, befriended, stalked, or mentored that it makes me want to know everything about them.

Out of this desire, I collaborating with 2 of my single-ladies from Angry Young Rockstars (our small group), created an "Interesting Lady Interview Form" last spring. We scheduled interviews with various women from our lives in an attempt to honor and to understand. It was an AMAZING process and I thought one worthy of sharing.

I think we live in an age and culture which is painfully remedial in its storytelling and in its discipleship efforts. We want efficiency (give me the high points of your narrative and move on) and we want to live in the illusion that our stories do not overlap. But they do!

Sooooo

I know I am little late here (INTL Women's day was March 8th) but I encourage you to hear someone's story in the next week or so. Even if you think you know it. Take them out for coffee or a treat and you might be surprised how a new angle uncovers a gem or two. If you want to use our format go ahead! If that seems overwhelming just choose one or two questions that peak your interest. Try it out and let me know:

1. How it went!
2. Any questions you added!
3. If you want to be interviewed!
Okay here goes!

Dear Interesting Lady,

You have been selected to be interviewed by a few female “rock stars” or so we have been called. Our selection method for this process is quite simple, to be interviewed you must be inspiring, and if you are reading this letter, then we have already decided that you are. Therefore, you should see this interview as a chance to be honored and nothing else. We want to sit at your feet and hear your story. Whatever story you tell is the one we have been waiting to hear. We realize that you are imperfect and we do not come to you expecting the formula for a pain-free life. We do suspect, however that you each have something to offer that might speak to us on own unique journeys. We are including a set of questions that we would be delighted to have you answer, but there is complete freedom in this process. Some interesting ladies will jump at the chance to give an opinion on each and every subject. Others will feel more drawn to a few inquiries and, of course, none of us can really plan the trajectory of our conversation, we can only ask that God will be among us in all of the silliness and seriousness. Look over the questions if you’d like, or ignore them if that is more your style. Thank you for having already inspired us. We can’t wait to have you all to ourselves!

Lady Rockstars

1. What is your Story? (This could be memoir-style, testimony, stand-up comedy)
2. Look at the topics below: What have you found to be easiest/loveliest/hardest/ugliest and most surprising about each area that applies to you?
-Work
-Children
-Marriage
-Christianity
3. Do you have a motto, mantra or life-verse?
4. If you are married what do you think initially made you fall in love with your husband?
5. What has kept you in love with him?
6. What have you most grown to love about yourself?
7. Who do you admire?
8. Finish this thought: “This I used to believe…”
9. What is the best advice you have ever received or given?
10. What question would you like to be asked?

Worst Wife Ever

2011-03-13T19:49:00.000-07:00

I have been avoiding posts on showers (bridal not actual) for some time now due to the elevated numbers of friends who currently find themselves in nuptial preparation and realization (let me pause here to say that I feel I should be commended for selecting the word "realization" rather than cleverly using the word "execution" and thus subtextually aligning the action of sharing vows with something aggressive, depressing and undesirable. I will thus hold for your applause in absentia.)

I didn't want to say whiney and offensive things about these little celebrations whilst participating in them each weekend, but yesterday during my first (yes , first) shower of the day the bloggods sent such perfect manna style provision for this post, I feel it would be on some level unholy to continue my shower silence. And so I speak out.

Now, in defense of showers I will say that the food is delicious (afterdinner mints, sausage balls and some kind of sherbet punch will never leave me dissatisfied)

Plus, any occasion to wear a cute dress cannot be all bad

Plus, I am in the 5-10% of the population who thoroughly enjoys most shower games. Give me a little Bride-Groom Trivia, some version of steal the clothespin, and a round of name that tune (love-song edition) and I am thrilled. Believe it or not, I have a competive edge.

Which is why, when Silverman's sweet aunt indicated that I would need a purse if I had any intention of winning the next game I declared loudly that I most certainly had every intention of dominating the next game and bolted out of the house to my car stopping only to grab a handful of refiller mints and a mini-quiche.

Out at my car I convinced myself that it would not be cheating to add a few more things to my purse since technically I treat my car less like a vehicle and more like an oversized purse than most individuals. I proceded to throw in an extra novel, a pen, a half consumed soda and a screwdriver because I seemed to remember this game probably had to do with who could provide the zaniest or largest amount of items from their own bag. Those other suckers inside were toast! They probably don't even have one melted chocolate bar in the bottom of their clutch, I thought, proud that my disheveled artsy way of toting would prove to be an asset in this instance.

Into the house I swaggered just in time to hear the game facilitator announce that we would be rummaging through our purses for the most wifely items. Every item was something "every good wife should have" and would be worth 5 points. Perhaps my confidence took a slight hit at the understanding that I, not being a wife, could be at a slight disadvantage, but my deep wells of unmerited self assurance led me to believe that I would still prevail as the game's ultimate victor.

This ladies and gentleman is the list as it was called out and my subsequent defensive responses:

Item #1 a lipstick ("because every good wife should be prepared to look good for her man"). Ok that seems fair enough and I do have a lipstick in my car (I am not a complete barbarian) its just too bad I did not grab it for this game.
Item # 2 a shopping list (self explanatory) also something I might possibly have but just don't at the moment.
Item # 3 Reading Glasses ("to read your grocery list") Now I am starting to get a little incredulous, am I being penalized for being neither old nor visually disabled, because I don't believe in reverse descrimination but if I did I think I would be filing a bridal-shower lawsuit.
Item # 4 Tums ("because your husband always needs them") Ok, this is probably the reason why I will not get married. I am not even 100% sure what Tums do, but it sounds like it has something to do with something gross gone wrong in your body and I am never going to want to carry around somebody elses gross body problem medicine.
Item #5 Coupons ("because good wives are always looking for a deal") I too am always looking for a deal but I am not doing it in 1982. Who (other than my mother) clips and carries coupons around with them in the technological age?
Item # 6 a picture of your husband, boyfriend or parents.("because you need a reminder of your love" or somthing like that). Ok now I am raging a bit because as is clear from my ineptitude on numbers 1-5, I have neither a husband or boyfriend and If I were carrying around framed pictures of my parents I think that would explain why. Again penalized for finally beating the separation anxiety that crippled me for so many years? This is just getting cruel folks.

and finally,

Item # 7 A credit card ("because every good wife should have credit") YESSSSS I not only have a credit card, I have 2, Booyah I think to myself. And then ("however every good wife should also be prudent, so if you have more than 1 credit card give yourself negative 2 points")

So, despite every effort on my part I ended the game husbandless, dignityless and in point debt. Here is the proof ...

This is my list along with single-lady Christina. The winner had 40 points.

Should we go ahead and join a convent now or maybe just start clipping some Tums Coupons? These are the sorts of questions that I take home with me at the end of each shower experience.

What about you ladies and gents, how do you size up on this good-wife game? How many of the items do you have in your current purse, murse or genderless tote?

Give it up for...

2011-03-08T19:34:00.000-08:00

So here's the deal. I've been having a hard time posting every week lately because I am currently working approximately 17 (or at least 3) jobs. However, part of the reason for taking all those gigs is to ultimately make more room in my life for writing. So never fear fodder friends. A day is coming when words will be my number one priority, but until then sacrifice is a necessity.

And speaking of sacrificice...

I felt strongly about getting a post up today no matter how finesseless, because it is FAT tuesday which means tomorrow is the beginning of the Lenten season, of which I wanted to make everyone well aware.
Lent offers us a time not only to sacrifice but to slow down...because each sacrificial moment expands such that we might decide how we will behave differently now that some of our old vices have been taken off the table.

"If I can't watch T.V. how will I use those 4 hours?
"If I eliminate carbs from my diet, to what or whom will I turn for love?

I love lent for this reason. For the opportunity to investigate those things that have taken hold of us. For reclaiming a thought-life instead of maintaing habitualized action. And for ultimately filling the voids with prayer rather than potatoes or porn or some other p-word that is basically bad for you.

I hope you might quietly consider, if you haven't already, some form of abstinece or action that God might guide you through during this season.

Keep quiet about it, so as not to become like your friend who constantly brags about not having a T.V. (we get it dude, you are SO sophisticated) or how often he yogas (we get it dude you are so flexible)...Jesus knew that would be annoying so he commanded against it.

But try it.
Give it up for the least sexy church season of the year . Give it up for Lent!

Dia de los Enamorados

2011-02-13T07:39:00.000-08:00

The Christian-memoir superstud Donald Miller (crush-o-mine), says that for him, the idea of having a father around-- all present and loving is quite like the idea of owning a dragon. It is a fascinating daydream arousing the curiosity and doubtless fulfilling a few other intellectual needs. But ultimately it is a “what if” and these particular sorts of what’ifs tend to be dead-ends, if we are all honest about it. And that is exactly what the ideas of love and marriage have become like for me. Occasionally someone who hasn’t known me long enough to have ever experienced me in a fugue of love or heartbreak will innocently ask if I have any desire for matrimony and all of its subsequent implications, and I think, “why, yes, that would be nice—as would the ability to becomes invisible or experience telepathy, so if you know anyone…”

I suppose that’s why I was so surprised in a conversation with Paltrow a few weeks back. We were having our weekly Bachelor debrief and then she told me about this poignant wedding she had attended over the holiday. “I just kept thinking about you” she said, and I assumed she meant there was someone there with unruly hair, or who showed up in flip-flops or some other nonsense like that. But she continued, “ I thought of you because I just know that is what your wedding will be like.”

And, I cried.

Immediately.

Shocking even myself.

Poor, delusional Gwyneth, I thought. Can’t she see that I am nearly thirty, dripping with neurosis and plagued by 3 of the world’s most speedily recurrent chin hairs? There is no santa, or toothfairy or husband for me. But the fact that she thinks there could be is overwhelmingly heartwarming. It is the kind of true love which sees the best of me and for me. And I have a lot of that these days.

And that is why I still love Valentine’s Day.

Earlier this week when I realized the Day of the Enamored was right round the corner I did a little (mental) jump of glee, because what it has really come to mean for me is a giggly girlfriend’s holiday where you believe the best for one another and treat each other better than any of your stupid boyfriends ever did. Instead of skulking in to that cleverly released rom-com like some single sinner on a field-trip to catch a glimpse of couplesville, you bound in wearing your best girl-power t-shirts and mocking the finesse-less inevitability of whatever kooky, happy-ending version of Romeo and Juliet is being pushed on this particular evening.

And,

You imagine. For yourself and for all your single ladies, and all your married and trying to conceive ladies, and for all your pre-maturely widowed ladies. You imagine the best and most cliché and satisfying love affairs for the whole lot of you. And I’m not trying to bash reality, ‘cause I have had some real genuine moments of transcendental love in my life, and on most days, I wouldn’t trade them. But, the problem with real people and relationships is that you tend to lose control of the script you’ve written and that can be just as annoying as being single.

So, this Monday (and each day really) I encourage you to be thankful for what is still fictional and for what is real. Be lavish in your affections for everyone in whom you are delighted, regardless of gender or romantic-status. Tell someone expressly, explicitly what they mean to you and what you believe for them. And for God’s sake eat some chocolate covered strawberries. This holiday deserves to be celebrated if but for no other reason than the weeklong ubiquity of those juicy little wedding cake toppers.

At least I know there will be loads of them atop the cake at my wedding one day, right Paltrow?

Happy V- Day everyone, feel free to begin your unabashed affection giving right here in the comments section.

Kerri K.

Texas Our Texas

2011-02-06T15:42:00.000-08:00

Many have claimed that there is no such thing as a stupid question and for the most part, I have agreed with this sentiment. But throughout my life, when someone has been audacious enough to ask me some version of this:

“What’s so great about Texas?”,

my commitment to the aforementioned philosophy has proved flappable. And, since there are those, fumbling through life unaware of how to properly answer such an elementary inquiry, I suppose I should share the most timely response here and now.

What’s so great about Texas is a little thing we like to call a “Snow Day”. I know other states have this procedure as well, but I think we do it best here. You see, two weeks ago I was wearing a sundress. As I sit and write this little PSA I am in a sundress. In between these bouts of free shouldered, flip-flop freedom has been a week of late-starts and snow days for me and my compadres throughout this the largest of the contiguous (aka “real”) states. So, in essence our philosophy (not to be confused with our motto which awesomely enough is: friendship) is this: “If you can’t wear a sundress to it, you might as well cancel it, stay in bed and pray for all your yankee acquaintances who are presently walking to their snow-covered school buildings despite the arctic blizzard that has taken the region hostage.

Some people complain about snow days implying that we are all going to be kicking ourselves on make-up day in May. Well Senor Glass-Half-Empty, you’re wrong. In May I am moments away from 6 weeks of summer break and I am coming to a job which is temperate and full of sun-kissed employees complimenting me on my newest sundress.

And obviously this is only the beginning, I’ve yet to mention Chicken Fried Steak, The Dallas Cowboys, Hill Country or Complimentary Queso at every other restaurant. So in conclusion, if you don’t live in Texas, I’m sorry. If you do hope you enjoyed some hot cocoa and family fun during arctic Blast 2011. And if you are looking for quotes (previously promised) from, about and adjacent to Brad Womack, Texas Bachelor click here.

Monday Night Lovin'

2011-01-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

I didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to disappoint those of you who, doubtless, tune in each week with hopes that you will be hit with another dose of some matter of unshakeable spiritual profundity. I hesitated to begin typing. I thought about my duties as a spiritual, and more specifically as a Christian woman. But when I look at myself in the mirror each morning I have to ask myself this question: How can a girl market herself as a sort of pilgrim in the land of singleton silliness, and knowingfully neglect to speak out on a little program that America’s Broadcasting Company calls,

The Bachelor.

She can’t, ladies and gentleman. It would be dishonest, a disservice a disgrace to avoid such a disgrace. And yes, some will say that if anything this sort of television demotes my spiritual self. And I wouldn’t put up much of a fight with you on that point. But, in the words of my mother,
I don’t drink,
I don’t do drugs,
I don’t participate in cross gender sleepovers of any variety
so a girl has got to have a guilty pleasure or two.
Okay?

And with that long of an intro, you might have guessed that it is time for one of my luscious little lists, but before I present you with “ Quotable Quotes that make me Love ABC's The Bachelor” I should provide a brief, unbiased description of the show for those who have managed to avoid it for its 15 seasons of glory.

So here goes:

25-30 women with low self esteem (allegedly) compete for the love of one (usually) well-to-do buff man. They win this stallion-man’s affection through a series of awkward group dates whereupon he serial kisses 5 to 12 women who are “really falling for him”. When a lovely lady finds a way to stand out of the crowd in a manner that pleases the bache (AKA hot-tub straddle scenes, emotional breakdowns arousing his need to guard and protect, and in this particular season showcasing vampire teeth.) She can make it to a one- on- one date to some simple, real –world- inspired destination (AKA dinner atop the Eiffel tower, serenaded by James Taylor and followed by your regular end of the date-adrenaline-riddled bunji jump down to safety on Paris’ cleared and lantern-lit streets below.) Whichever ladies make the best impressions each week are presented with roses from the man in charge and the other women scorned are immediately sent home in limousines where they say amazingly embarrassing and bipolar things, i.e. “I know it has only been 2 and a half weeks, but I really thought he was the one. I was really in love with him. I hope he burns in hell for keeping those other trashy girls around.” Then she drinks a bottle of liquor, preps questions for, After the Final Rose. And eventually after we have seen enough of those rides our man pretends to be completely torn between the final two contestants, then publicly rejects one last girl for the awkwardest of limo-ride confessionals and then selects a woman to be his….uh well, sometimes his wife, sometimes his g.f. who he promises to eventually propose to in the future and one time to no one at all. That Bachelor’s name was Brad—an Austin Boy.

And Brad is back! And guess what? If you are late to the, ehem ,Bachelor Party, as it were, You have missed but one episode and it can be found online. You’ll want to finish each episode with the bachelor recap at ihategreenbeans.com and now that you know what you are in for I can continue on to my list…

~~“ Quotable Quotes that make me Love the Bachelor”~~

Alas…I fear I have gone and used up to much of my word-count on the intro to this long-planned list-o-mine. So I do believe I will have to make this a two-parter. I will gather more bachelor inspired quotes on tomorrow’s episode and get back to you with a post or maybe even a new blog section? But, until then, what say you sisters (and brothers). Do you forgive me for my bachelor love? Accept me? Amen me? Applaud me? Disown me? Have I convinced you to join in, if you were previously unaware or otherwise uncommitted to this Monday night phenomenon? Let me know!

Kerri K.

Kerri's Favorite Things 2010

2010-12-28T11:01:00.000-08:00

I do hate to be cliche. But, after berating most of my friends favorite time of the year, I figured I better come this week with a little more holiday cheer. Rest assured that if I had the money all 12 of you would be going home with a copy of each of these little gems that came into my life in the year of our Lord Two-Thousand and Ten. However, it would seem that on this particular occasion the best I can provide is my reccommendation and some pretty pictures. So, Enjoy!

Kerri's Favorite Things 2010

10. About a year ago, my boss gave me the best gift of our entire relationship. She took a substance that I had long regarded as rich people's less delicious bean dip and turned it into my go-to snack. Lest you think this is any indication of some sort of acquired hoitey-toitiness on my part, I should inform you that my palate only has buds for one:

Sabra Hummus It is delicious. It is not wierd and grainy, or runny and flavorless. It is rich and creamy and I have already converted some other hummus haters with this brand. Come to think of it though, I probably know someone who could teach me to make an amazing garbanzo bean smash-down.

9. Jeggings- no need to repeat my reasoning. If you don't know why then just click here for a A.A. flashback post.

8. I love Children's books, I love America, I STILL Love the Rocky-Bam, so how could I not love this:

7. As for adult ficiton, I have been seriously off the reading wagon. EEK! However, the most influential non-fiction book of my 2010 has been about Strengths...check out the author and do yourself a favor by taking his course, right here:

6. I am embarrassed to say it. He is lude. He is crude. But he is also gorgeous and about a million times more clever than I had previously been willing to believe. 2010 is the year when I came to understand all the hype around this guy:

5. I waited for this film, like a child innocently waits for the misleading and theologically undermining elder gent called Santa. (Sorry I had to get one last Christmas dig in) And this time, it was worth the wait. The acting, the writing, the cinematography, the social commentary--don't let 2010 slip away without seeing

4. And after that when you need a laugh... I waited too long to watch what I think might be the tightest comedy of the postmodern sitcome scene. It isn't for the easily offended, but if you are the type who appreciates a little offensiveness now and then these are your people

3. I am a very mainstream girl. I have no real desire to seek out the newest indie-anything. Sure. on occasion (meaning if Ryan Gosling is involved) I will watch a film festival darling and if my best friends brother happens to be an amazing but unknown writer I will read him. But for good or for ill I usually just trust the masses to determine what I go searching for. But the best poet, artist, musician that has influenced me over the past few months has been one folk festival treasure by the name of Mr. John Fulbright. Please, Please, Please if you are even considering liking poetry, check this guy out:

2. 2010 brought me 2 new great nieces. They are beautiful, hilarious, unique, and largely uninteresting for the purposes of this post so we will just leave it at that.

and Finally,
1. What act of God could beat out the miracle of new life or the as yet unrementioned year of the funny? Well it is one man's rise to power. A man whose simultaneously calm and urgent demeanor takes us back to a time when we all felt a little more confident in the years to come. That man is, of course,

Jason Garrett! Go Cowboys!
Happy New Year to all of you. May it be more August less Angst and full of new favorite things.

Kerri K.

You Hate Christmas?!?!

2010-12-21T12:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, I hate Christmas.

People roll their eyes in disgust when I say that, but for the most part it is true. Although, I certainly don’t hate Jesus or birthdays or a collective spirit of generosity. And, I don’t hate advent or carols or delicious food, either. So I guess my more precise, but less catchy, statement of belief is this: I hate the secular, para-christmas activities falling on an around the winter solstice. To further clarify this offense of mine, I have decided to create a list, formerly entitled Why I hate Christmas, but now titled, (so as to not be misleading any longer):

Reasons I hate the secular Para-Christmas Activities Falling on and Around the Winter Solstice

Volume 1

I hate Decorating

Decorating is an experience in which I always feel my femininity to be in question. People turn on their old-money chuckle and use the collective voice a lot. “Oh Kerri, I don’t think we really want to hang that ornament on this branch do we?? (insert fake-ish cough-like laughter). Why don’t we try over here, doesn’t that make more sense? “

“Oh I see,” I think to myself, “you are searching for the sensible answer about all of this? Okay lovey, what if we, didn’t uproot an allergen infested tree only to put colorful, metallic balls on it for two weeks, like the pagans of years gone by. Wouldn’t that be rich?” Furthermore, what if we (you) owned our (your) own neurosis and just said this: “take your hands of my damn Christmas tree you crazy hippy-dip, you are ruining my vision for this seasonal décor with all your kooky dissymmetrical leanings.!!!" Wouldn’t that feel better for everyone?

As you can see, my station in life as a lazy, non-visual, decorative pragmatist precludes me from decking the halls with much, if any merriment. I hate it. But not as much as …

I hate Winter

I know what you are going to say you winter-loving reader. You all always come with the same line. “Well at least in winter you can always put more clothes on. In summer you can only take so much off, right?”. Here are the three-fold errors in that argument.

Number 1: No you cannot! There is a certain point at which you can no longer put more clothing on both literally and practically speaking. Even if I can put on 36 shirts (which I assure you is what it would take to keep me cozy on some February nights) , does it really make sense to allot the extra hours it would take to toddle your way to your destination and then strip each layer off once you arrive and are enveloped into a little miracle called central heating? I don’t think it does.

Number 2: In summer, once you have taken off everything you possible can, you need only water or anything made of paper to cool yourself down. You can spray or fan yourself both inside and outside. Your limbs have free range of motion to utilize these tools because they are not trapped by 36 layers of wool suffocation. And furthermore,

Number 3: If it is 110 degrees outside and I jump in a pool, I am hot no longer. However, If it is 20 degrees outside and I stand by a fire, I must position my body in such a way that every part of me gets acknowledged by those flames. God forbid, I reach out to grab a marshmallow or, my now ash-scented hat that fell off a few minutes ago. So to sum up these weather sentiments, Summer rules, Winter Drools, okay? I think we can all put that issue to rest and move on to the worst offender of all…

I hate White Elephant Gifts

I have never been a fan of antagonism. I know there are people out there that think it is so cute and hilarious to go to a restaurant where the wait-staff berates the customers, or who love to watch television shows where people slip and fall into a mud pit and everyone has a gay old time at his or her expense. I cannot stand these things. How is it funny to get yelled at? Or laughed at when you’re losing a competition? So, my head explodes with confusion each holiday season when people get together with the express purpose of antagonistically handing out gifts of which others will get little to no use. I am a people person, however, so I usually go to these gatherings if I am invited. And the fates always have their way with me.

This year I fell for the beautiful wrapping of my friend Sarah Silverman. I opened the package to find a little something called a shelf-sitter. That is what it does. It sits on a shelf. I have to pride this organization on their honesty. Not trying to pull the wool over anybodies eyes with a name like Decorative Overhang or Ledge Adornment. Keep it simple sister, what you got here is a shelf sitter--nothing more, nothing less. Although, how something could be qualified as less than an object whose sole purpose is to sit, is beyond the borders of my imagination. So, if I did not express enough gratitude in the moment, let me say it again. Thank you Silverman for giving me the gift that someone gave you, in a well-intended but misinformed attempt to gain your affection. The gift has been passed on to a child who, I am told will receive pleasure in watching it sit.

So,
for all the incredulous toward my grinchitude, these are my first three problems with X-mas time. Although, it does occur to me that this year I saw and participated in some not-so-bad Christmas spruce ups and it has been pretty warm here in Texas and that unicorn shelf sitter did give me inspiration for this week’s post. So for this year only, I suppose I should say that the season has not been half-bad.

Merry Christmas Everyone! Mucho Amor,

Kerri

Friday Night Lies

2010-12-12T20:41:00.000-08:00

1 Chicken Lo Mein Kids Meal

1 Sweet and Sour Chicken Kids Meal
1 Order of Chicken Eggrolls (comes with 2)

Please tell me, does this sound like a meal for one person or two? Because the girl at the counter yesterday felt the need to clarify whether I required 2 plasticware packets for this order. Why would she ask me something so insulting? Do I look like the type of person who orders two meals and two eggrolls to devour on a Friday night? Am I that overweight, unattractive and off-putting that she thinks that all I have to do on my evening off is plow through a smorgesboard of asian cuisine while watching a chick-flick and pretending to clean up my studio apartment? The nerve!

To her credit, that is exactly what I was doing that night, so in the most technical of senses, she was right to question me; but doesn’t it seem prudent to just assume that I am ordering for 2? After (somewhat huffily) implying that yes, I would be needing two plasticware packets, I walked out to my car and wondered at myself.

Why lie? They were kids meals after all and I did intend to save some for lunch the next day, so why not be a woman about the whole issue, tell the truth and spare Shu Shus the loss of one packet (which I am sure adds up after a while if people are just taking them willy nilly for face-saving purposes). Truthfully, I wasn’t even disappointed in spending my evening this way, to the contrary, I had been looking forward to it, planning it even, but the problem was that on some level, I had been judged rightly and that tends to make me squirm.

I realized this a few months ago when I had a meeting with my professional mentor. She is always asking for honesty so I basically told her that I honestly had never planned to be a working woman and going to a job day after day was really becoming a buzzkill for me. She of course looked at me like a naive, entitled, lazy disappointment of a student. She reminded me that it isn’t completely realistic to be a housewife sans husband and children. I started crying.

I went home feeling sick to my stomach sure that she had misunderstood me. "I don’t feel like she was listening", I thought, "or maybe I was just stumbling over my words too much" or…Could it be that she understood me perfectly? I mean yes, she has her own beliefs and biases that she might attach to the facts of my life but she has that right. So does the Shu Shus girl. I don’t get to choose their reaction to who I am. But that is exactly what I attempt to do when I edit and talk around my point and try to be pleasing instead of authentic.

I am a double-meal ordering, aspiring housewife. That might be unhealthy, crazy or worse, but it is the truth. It is my own problem or pride and no one else's. So, I guess this is my apology to Shu Shus.

Sorry for lying about your plasticware.

Adventually...

2010-12-05T07:38:00.000-08:00

I will always remember my first Hannukah.

I was living overseas with Leelee and, at the time, with my friend Nat as well. Leelee and I are Christians and Nat is Jewish and so we decided that this was a great time to share faith with one another.

Each night Nat schooled us in Hannukah happenings:

We utilized our resources of old candy box and Oreos sent from home to play the dreidel game.

We lit our potato-constructed Menorah in the window sill each evening.

We ate deliciously oily Latkes in rememberance of the oil that God provided to the israelites in the Temple.

and,

We learned and prayed new Hebrew blessings, my favorite of which was the Ha-Motzi or Blessing for Bread.

When it was our turn to share, I did readings in celebration of Advent, a tradition that was actually as foreign to me as Hannukah but that God had compelled me to look into on this particular year.

Advent is a time of waiting...

and waiting....

and waiting....

We sing songs like O Come, O Come Emmanuel-- the minor chords reminding us how eerily, depressingly long Israel awaited a savior.

And we relate. Because we are waiters too.

When will I find love?
How long 'til I get pregnant?
What needs to happen for me to escape to this job, city, sin?

And some of us, myself included, are the most obnoxious of kids in the back of God's Mini-van.

Are we THERE yet?!?!

Now, as anyone who has ever seen a good coming-of-age film knows, the answer is no! We are not there yet. The vast majority of our time on this planet is spent traveling with occasional arrivals-- and to be honest it is probably kind of annoying to God that we can't take a minute to look at all the beauty that surronds us as we get there. It is good to be eager, to live in expectation of what God is going to do, I don't mean to malign that practice one bit. I live by this practice. But it is also good to thank God for our daily bread--that which sustains us as we wait...

"Baruch Atah YHVH/Adonai, ("Praised are You, Lord, our God,)
Eloheinu Melech Ha-Olam - (King of the Universe)
Ha-motzi lechem min ha-aretz." (Who brings forth bread from the Earth)

In Bethlehem lies the realization of all the world's hopes and fears, or so the song goes. May you live this advent season with more hope and less fear and with thankfulness for the Bread of Life.

Kerri K.

P.S. Want to try something pretty darn meaningful for advent? Check-out http://www.adventconspiracy.org/

How do you like them, Apples?

2010-12-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

Single though I may be, I have always thought of myself as a mother—most likely because I have always been shaped like a woman entering her second trimester (cute, skinny arms and legs paired with an ample baby-storing mid-section). In the fashion-biz I am what they call an “apple”, and for all my single and not so single ladies out there, I know that you know the trials and tribs of dressing right for your body type.

I still remember when I first discovered the magic of empire-waist baby-doll dresses. I was in the 6th grade and happy as a clam. There have been other moments of apple-bodied victory throughout the years—tank-inis and your classic V-neck Tee, not the least of these little heaven-sent cloth kisses, but this summer I was taken aback by the new lean, mean closet dream that flew into town compliments of Target.

An apple has two wardrobe goals when she gets out of bed each morning:

1. Do everything in her power to showcase those gorgeous gams.

2. Try and limit the number of people who ask when the baby is due.

These goals seem incompatible at times, particularly when you are talking jeans. In the past, apples have oft been given an “all or nothing” scenario. You can show off the legs (and the belly comes along for the ride) or you can cover the tum, tum (with a pant that wholly swallows your entire lower half). I know it isn’t exactly a sophie’s choice situation but c’mon, it sucks.

So when I walked into Laura’s house last August, before heading to a meeting together, I was amazed at what I saw. Laura is always a striking woman—strong and statuesque with a good amount of come-hither thrown in. But, on this particular day I was drooling even more than usual. Her legs were astonishing, I could see every inch of them and yet, I wasn’t embarrassed for her or her four children.

Other people had the same reaction, thus frantic whispers traveled around the meeting.

“Check Laura Out!”
“What is she rocking?”
“Where can I get some?”

The answer would come to me later that evening. This crown jewel of the jean world had a name and the name was

Jeggings!

I know, it is unfortunate, a gross sounding name, truly meant for mockery and if they weren’t so invaluably awesome (forgiving where they need to be and tight where it counts) I would have to boycott them on that count alone. But ladies, they are that invaluably awesome!

And you will never guess who agrees with said awesomeness, I mean deep sigh of pleasure—bite down on his own finger kind of agreement! Find out who, right here (click on the second sneak peek on the page). Yes, yes, I have never been so proud to bear the Jegging name.

So, apples of the world unite, you gotta get your jeg on, and for what it’s worth my little pear friends, I happen to love the look on you A-shapes as well. But if you disagree then please speak to your sisters!

What is the must-have item for ladies with a petite uptown and a party downtown?

Other body types feel free to chime in too!

And if some male-type has actually made it to the bottom of this altogether girly conversation starter, do tell-- do you agree with our celebrity gentlemen about the allure of the jegging, or do you prefer a good mom-jean (nice high waist with a taper)?

Would love to hear from you!

Kerri

R.I.P. My Dreams!

2010-11-28T13:25:00.000-08:00

It probably goes without saying that I am in love with almost every semi-youthful, semi-not-disgusting male comedian on the planet, right? Obviously my first and true love is Conan. But guess what? He is married.

Jimmy Fallon? Married.

Stephen Colbert? Married.

Jon Stewart? Married.

Jesse Carey, (who is actually a writer for Relevant Magazine but funny enough to be a comedian)? Married!

And, fortunately or unfortunately depending on your worldview, I am not in the habit of going after married men, even in my imaginings.

But, there has always been one lovely hunk of funny who I could really depend on for my “I am going to become famous one day and then I will totally be in his league” fantasies. That man is Mr. Seth Meyer, head writer for television’s longest running and most well respected sketch comedy show, Saturday Night live. He is the anchor for Weekend Update and to date the funniest guest on late night television shows, in my less than humble opinion.

I also understand, from my faithful attending to each and every interview he has ever given, that his is a family of sports watchers, particularly football, which is a nice bonus to his already ample offerings of looks and comedy. And, because it is completely reasonable ,I always project onto all my celebricrushes a latent Christianity just ready to burst forth once they settle in with a nice down-to-earth, refreshingly “Jesus-ey” kind of girl such as myself. So that settles that issue, and all is well in dreamville.

Until...

I am youtube stalking him last night as a part of my things I am thankful for online musings, when what should my ears hear from his sweet wit-soaked lips, but the dreaded words of fake-crush death—

My girlfriend and I…..

What?!?! Seth Myers has a girlfriend? Well Seth, why hasn’t she come up in your dozens of late night interviews? Don’t you think that is a little misleading?

He continues,

Remember when I was here last year and I told you about her dad’s goat?

Last Year!?!? How did I miss this? Sure, last year was rough at this time what with Conan getting abused right in front of the whole country and all, but was I really so neglectful that I have now been imaginary cheat-dating at the expense of some poor stupid supermodel (one presumes) that is in love with Seth Myers? What’s a girl to do? Some have implied that I might have more luck in my actual dating life if I spent less energy on things of this nature, but that’s just silly. So who do you think, I should move onto next? Anybody know of any single, cute, comedians I should be obsessed with? Tell me your suggestions in the comment section!

And, be sure to check out some of the changes to my blog!

I hope you like the new background for a new season. Also, you will notice that my posts are now organized for your reading pleasure according to the three areas of my tagline: Silliness, Singleness and Spirituality. I have also created my first of many semi-permanent blog pages entitled Single Cinema. And finally take a look at some of my favorite blogs which I finally figured out how to publicize (all of these changes are on the right hand of your screen).

What about you? Know anyone who might like August Angst? Anyone silly, single, or spiritual? Pass the word along! More readers means more feedback. More feedback means better writing. Better writing means better posts! I am Thankful for you, hope your holiday was sublime!

Kerri

Anthropomorphic Yolk ...

2010-11-25T20:33:00.000-08:00

It has been previously publicized that my year of the man proved somewhat lacking. Even more so? My month of writing about my year of the man! However, the Lord (or perhaps just my own greed) has provided me something of a consolation prize for this time in my life and it is: Bum budda bum bum bum bum (cue your best Oprah impression)--My year of the fuuuuuuu-nnneeeeeeeee!!!!

That’s right, two jobs, bi-annual retreat planning, church life and family obligations notwithstanding, I somehow made it to see five comedians in the past five months. You will remember that this very blog sprang forth from my mind during Conan’s Legally Prohibited Tour back in May. A few months later my friend Liv got me Kathy Griffin tickets and I in return got her seats to Aziz Ansari in Houston. For my money, and please do not perceive this as comedic infidelity to my little Coco Bean, Aziz Ansari had the best show.

Conan is probably a better writer, but the variety show feel is not my preference. Let’s just keep it to the jokes sirs and madams. This is my problem with Kathy G. as well because her stories are so meandering and I am so uncertain as to whether she will ever return with the punchlines to the gabbled tale that she started half an hour ago, that I have mini panic attacks all throughout her set. Worth it? Yes!!!! But still anxiety provoking. Plus she swears an awful lot.

Aziz on the other hand, insistently dressed like an old-school haberdasher , and stood before us for an hour of pristinely delivered first-date, crazy-family, rap-culture japery that one hopes will be uploaded to the youtube sooner rather than later. Keep the funny coming , Aziz, and I think (because I cannot fit these in anywhere else) that you should name your next special Anthropomorphic Yolk.

Now for the astute mathlete out there, you realize that if my claims of 5 in 5 is literally true and not simply one of my many hyperbolic indulgences for writing’s sake , then I have yet to divulge the final pair of comedians that I have seen this fall. Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert make up that twofer completing my jowl-aching hilarity tour. In true single-lady style, I bought tickets for myself and similarly care-free buddy Christina to the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear(Someone’s learned her lesson about showing up to these things solo!).

Christina is my friend who hates it when people misuse the phrase “begs the question” which, I think we can all agree, begs the question: what does it mean to beg the question? I knew Christina would be a good travel companion because even despite her touch of linguistic pretension (a quality we share), he girl is not above a bit of good-natured jiggery-pokery in an effort to get the best seat possible in a crowd of 250,000. We were not, as in my prefigurement, sitting on the laps of Jon and Stephen gently wiping the sweat droplets off of their moist foreheads betwixt their dueling comedic bits, however, Christina’s sojourning spirit did get us up to the second echelon of seats, a feat which would have had me on the verge of tears within minutes, were I to have braved this journey alone.

So, there we sat listening to songs like this:

And reading signs like these:

And hearing the truth like this:

And the truth is that there is a lot to be frustrated about in life, a lot of obstacles, a lot of jerks, a lot of dissension and honestly a lot of vocabulary words that are hard to fit into one anniversary article.

But there is also a lot to talk about and write about and laugh about together. Levity is good. Life is seriously funny, even more so now that Conan O’B is back on T.V. May all of you Anniversary readers have a year of the funny in your future!

***Special thanks to Amy Adams, Brad Pitt, Laura Prepon and Drew Barrymore for providing the 13 mystery words and phrases found in this article and for being active participants in my Real Life year of the funny!

Silver Post-iversary Contest

2010-10-16T09:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve told you before about my high school boyfriend D.J. Qualls, right? Well we used to play a little game together which I will call Opinionitis! After many nights of four-hour talks on the phone, you can really learn a lot about a person, despite what disenchanted mom’s and dads might choose to believe! This is what Deej learned about me: there seemed to be nothing no matter how large or microscopic in the finite or metaphysical world, for which I did not have an opinion—and a strong one at that--

I ranted about things like:

• Why computer geniuses could not make a less offensive operating noise for people trying to explore the world wide web via AOL

• Drive through Windows

• The permissive sexual mores of our time

• People who eat chicken and call themselves vegetarians

• People who pretend to like Coffee

• The Nazi Regime,

and

• Blue Cheese

I raved about things like:

• The Grace of Our Lord Jesus Christ, who demonstrated his love for us in this: while we were still sinners died for us, justifying us by his blood and saving us from God's wrath,

and,
• Frito Pie

Qualls thought this was cute, but made it his mission to seek out something for which I had neutral thoughts and feelings. And so he would try and sneak a little something into each of our conversations:

“Hey what do you think about the new football field? Shaggy hair on guys?Karate?Hinduism?Three Pronged electric cords?”

He caught me without an opinion once or twice, but generally that is a most difficult thing to do.

I took a personality assessment that called this trait of mine, connected. It said “nothing is without meaning to you, because you see how everything interconnects”. So there you have it folks, you can stop rolling your eyes and stretching out the word O-PIN-YUN-ated, when you describe me. I am connected, thank you very much, things are very meaningful for me.

One thing in particular that has been popping up on my meaning-meter lately is this blog. Next week will be my 25th post, which might not sound like much, but I had a lot of worries about this little baby of mine:

• Maybe it won’t be funny

• Maybe I am not a very good writer

• Maybe no one will ever look at it

• Maybe I will care if no ever looks at it

• Maybe I will be such a bad writer and care so much that no one is looking at it that I will give up and go back to no writing at all

But here we are 5 months later and I feel proud because it is mine, and because you guys have supported it with comments, compliments, advice, etc. So to say thank you and to celebrate my 25th blog post I want to include those of you who have taken the time to read my thoughts on some very meaningful and some very meaningless material. I want to do this by using your very own words, here’s how you can play along:

• Submit the Topic or Title of my 25th Post – You can see that I have thoughts on the most random and profound subject areas, so I should be able to write a funny and/or spiritually meaningful article about any subject that you give me! (Topic Ex: Elephants, candy corn) (Title Ex: Feeding Candycorn to Elephants)

• Submit mystery words- these words are not the main topic, they are just funny words that you would like to see me incorporate somehow into the body of the next article (ex: lemonhead, viscous, epiglottis, ect.

• Submit any blog ideas that you would like to see rolled out over the next 25 posts (ex: blog page ideas, taglines, contests, posts, etc.)

Readers whose topic, title, or mystery words I use will be given credit using your celebrity pseudonym, so if you don’t have one yet, this is a great chance to get one! Also, Post 25 will not go up on time, I hope to have it up by Thursday, but if not it will be the next Tuesday.

Thanks for Playing!

Calling all Big Books

2010-10-10T07:35:00.000-07:00

Well, as promised, I went to see the Social Network, took a week off from writing, read this great article, and spoke with many of you about the nature of my blog-sin. Honestly, I feel almost all atoned up and I am cautiously but honestly moving forward with this little self-hired writing gig. But, before delving straight into some snarky, self satisfied commentary, I want to transition by opening up the “big book” conversation. And in this particular instance I am not referring to the Bible.

Instead, I am talking about a concept that my friend Kate Hudson brought to my attention a few years ago. She asked me once, if I, unlike a couple of other friends, thought she was a “big book”, meaning someone whose life and personality has many chapters, stories, mysteries and yes ,even contradictions. It is this amount of depth after all , which might make each one of us all the more frustrating or enticing to become acquainted with and Kate who is quite like me wanted affirmation that she was layered enough to be hated and adored. I would and did argue that each of us like Whitman himself, are “large, containing multitudes”. That means, Kate Hudson is a big book and you are a big book and so am I.

This feels salient to me at the moment because I know that sometimes I concretize things in my writing that are actually quite fluid. I write from an exaggeration of my point of view which means these little life vignettes that I share seem BLACK and WHITE as I type and post them. I like writing in black and white because I amuse myself an embarrassing amount with my own rigid versions of stories. But, I do believe in the gray in between. My entire life, in many ways, is the gray in between. So this morning I want to leave you with a few chapters from my big book and I would love for you to do the same in the comments section .

Chapter 1: Luddite Blogwriter

Chapter 2: Objective Hyperbolist

Chapter 3: Extreme Moderate

Chapter 4: Extroverted Homebody

Chapter 5: Lost and Found

Ok, Tag your it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Right to Write???

2010-09-26T15:11:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that I hate internet communication? Because, I do. I think it has the potential for such veiled evil. I’m not even talking about dangerous child predator or stolen identity stuff.
No,
I am talking about a level of unprecedented self-involvement that has come to characterize this generation.
I am talking about forfeiting intimacy with a few in exchange for fandom from the many.
I am talking about misconceptions, misdirections, etc, etc, etc.

Why then, did I start a blog?

It is a fair question, especially from those with whom I have ferociously debated the concept. In a nutshell, I created August Angst because Kelly told me to. As a good friend she told me that I wasn’t a writer if I wasn’t writing and a blog might just give me the accountability that I needed.

I looked down my nose at the idea for a few weeks and then had a come to Jesus with myself.
“Here is the thing,
I have to write to be a writer.
I don’t write when no one is looking.
I have no time for any submitting work.
Somethings gonna have to give.”

So, I decided to start a blog.

It would be my craft practice. Not a diary. Not therapy. Not something that would take the place of mature and direct communication with those with whom I am in relationship. And until yesterday I felt pretty good about having reached those goals.

But here is the only problem. I don’t know that I have the capacity to write something that isn’t in some way therapeutic. As much as I love to peruse the thesaurus and diagram sentences, at the end of the day writing is always therapy. And that is probably why a few weeks ago when I was feeling fragile, I decided to write about dates from last year.

I did not jump into that writing lightly. I thought about each person who had been gracious enough to pay for my meals, movies and museums and I considered whether they might ever be privy to this little NON-DIARY. It didn’t seem like they would (though I certainly knew there was a chance) so I proceeded with my snarky commentary—knowing that it revealed more about me than each of them.

Yesterday I found out that those little snarky comments had been discovered by at least one of my blog-characters.

And I mean, in all fairness to myself, I have yet to reveal anything horribly tragic about anybody. And I haven’t broken trust with anyone with whom I remain in relationship. But, I still feel like someone should stick my nose in a corner and make me think about what I have done.

It isn’t that I think my words have crippled anyone, in fact I have been assured this is not the case. But I can’t seem to shake that golden rule flippin’ around in my head, so I have to wonder what might happen for me if I came upon this post :

“Tips # 7-15 as learned from the overly dramatic blog-writer”.

7. Don’t be a weirdo 8. Brush your hair 9. Shut up for a half-second 10. What is with all the obnoxious laughing ? 11. Stop interrogating 12. Ever heard of a tweezer? 13. Get some speech therapy for that disgusting smack of yours 14. Try not being the loudest person in the restaurant 15. Don’t be a DB and journal about this date online, like some kind of reject seventh grader

It wouldn’t ruin my life.
I’d probably laugh at a clever line or two.
I might even show a friend in a rare moment of unfrazzled maturity
But,
On my worst and most insecure day, I suspect I would remember one of these clever retorts and cry into my pillow.

So, what ‘s a Golden Rule Honoring, Storytelling girl to do?

I think I’ll start by watching The Social Network this coming weekend . Looks dark, disturbing and philosophically similar to myself when it comes to some of these world-wide venues for communication.

Hoping to be back next week,
until then going to let the angel and devil on each of my shoulders duke it out for the win.

Sleep Tight?

2010-09-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

People, something has gone awry. I don’t mean to belabor the point, but I think it might have to do with this last birthday. Back in July, as far as one could tell, I was a healthy, vibrant, woman with her whole life ahead of her. Now, just 2 months later, I seem to be in a state of rapid decline.

Two weeks ago, as many of you are well aware, I retched for the first time in 16 years and then spent the evening getting out of bed every 2 hours to lie toilet-side “just in case”. This week I awoke (from an otherwise precious slumber) writhing and screaming out in pain due to a rare and terrifying charley horse. The last, and only other time, that I have experienced a charley horse I was twirling my megaphone and hanging with friends in the choir hallway at BHS circa 1998.

So, in light of this odd return of old afflictions, I felt it best to get myself logged on to the Wikipedia for a little information and reassurance that I was not exhibiting the signs of any horrific and incurable disease. In hind sight, this was not my best decision.

Here is what I found out:

Vomit: may result from many causes, ranging from gastritis or poisoning to brain tumors or elevated intracranial pressure

Charley Horse: Common among pregnant women and the elderly.

So, at first glance, I am either poisoned, tumored, pregnant or speedily headed down dementia drive; however you look at it, the forecast does not seem great. Then to add insult to injury, I am watching the Colbert Report yesterday and I hear that Abercombie and Fitch has had to close down due to one of the many bed-bug infestations currently ransacking our nation. Please don’t misunderstand, because I will, of course, not be in the least affected by any amount of change in the A & F chain. But, I am pretty sure, and by that I mean 100% certain, that if the professionals at a store of that caliber cannot adequately extinguish these little blood-sucking creepers then they are definitely what one might call “all up in” my little couch-bed.

And if nausea, calf-seizing, and night-time crawlers are allowed to persist, one must wonder if there are any good nights of rest in my future. But there is one ray of hope for a restful night to come-- I could go out on another date with the guy whose name and occupation I can never remember, because if memory serves, I almost fell asleep during the one 15 minute conversation that we forced our way through before watching the movie that we had previously agreed upon. That would supply me a wink or two guaranteed.

So, as a parting gift to all you sleepy-heads out there, I will leave you with Tips # 3, 4, and 5 as learned on my date with (insert snore sound here).

3. Do not choose to go to a movie on a first date…there is no time to get to know this stranger with whom you have agreed to spend an evening.

4. A the end of your time together—love connection or not-- Do not send your date, with little more than a “peace out”, into a dark alley to find her parked car, alone. If you cannot be bothered to walk her to her vehicle, at least get in the habit of providing rape whistles as a parting gift. It is just a polite gesture.

5. And most importantly, do not use the precious conversation time that you do have discussing, much less arguing, the history of traffic on interstate 35. In fact, just to be safe, let’s just say the history of any major highway thoroughfare, should be avoided at this stage in the relationship. Save your civic deliberations for an occasion when you can really give it the time that it deserves. For pre-movie banter, try sticking with info about family, hobbies and jobs. That should be a treat for anyone hoping to get to know you better.

And as a simple bedtime treat for all you faithful readers, I leave you with this little cup of warm milk.

Until next time,

Good Night, Sleep Tight…

Poetry

2010-09-12T21:41:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was a sad anniversary for our country:

Remembering what it is like to fear,

What is like to grieve,

What it is like to hate and to be hated.

But this coming weekend is a holy time for many people in the world.

A time of repentance and of reflection and of course-correction.

A time of humility and of confession and of mercy.

And this is one of my favorite (and shortest, and only) Holy Day poems.

Yom Kippur

Liora calls to say I'm sorry,

and I forgive her;

This is the greatest poetry that I know.

May your week be full of grace and love and forgiveness...

Slamming Doors and Ralphing

2010-09-06T19:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I had a new experience. For the first time in my life I had to have friends drive me home after puking in the single-stall bathroom of a local bar. The story would probably be sexier for some of you if it involved even the least inkling of tawdry behavior but true to form I was actually there with a church group after a fairly mature day of cleaning, conversing and celebrating labor day with my neighmly (neighbor-family). I suppose the immature decision of the day was convincing myself that 5 mini-brownies pretty much equal the size of two normal brownies and let the record show, I have, on many occasions, eaten 2 brownies without any noticeable recourse from my body. But, I hear the only constant is change. So maybe I am just turning into the type of girl who can’t handle her chocolate.

OR maybe I am just turning into the type of girl who saves her blog writing until the very end of the weekend only to find that the end of the weekend always get highjacked by something else—on this particular occasion, it just happens to be vomit. So I promised some more tips in this next post and I want to be a woman of my word, unfortunately, for now the tips are going to have to be quick and dirty. Here goes:

Tip 2 as learned from my date with the musician.

Do NOT slam a door in your date’s face. I know it seems self-evident but if you are rusty enough I suppose it isn’t. My 1st date with the musician was great. No complaints. But on date 2 he started talking a lot of music jargon and became so enraptured with the musical set on the outdoor stage that he hardly noticed me follow him inside to throw my trash away. I was inches away from a broken nose and he was moments away from being placed in the “friend zone”. It all kind of makes me nauseous just thinking about it. No wait, that seems to be the brownies again.

My apologies for having written such a disgusting post, but you gotta write what you know--Ya know? Here's hoping this a one time occurence!

August Angst

2010-08-22T07:30:00.000-07:00

August is here.

That means we are but a few days away from THE day. God in his sovereignty knew that I was incapable of sharing the spotlight with any amount of grace or decorum and thus allowed for my arrival into this world to take place during the only month in which no formal holidays are celebrated—at least in the Americas—well, at least in the United States of America where I have spent most of my birthdays.
And of course some skeptic who is reading will feel compelled to run through each and every month to confirm that what I am saying is accurate and I just have 2 things to say to you:

1. Seek some counseling you have trust issues
2. Yes I am including no-day off from school type holidays like St. Pattys day. (I don’t want people thinking about Ireland when they could be spending those energies penning out their words of affirmation toward me.)

But, if you haven’t heard, August –even for someone as birthday-centric as myself- can be angsty. It means another year has rolled by and my left ring finger and womb both remain suspiciously empty. This realization often provokes a full day of intermittent sitcom watching and shower crying while Kasey Chamber's Not Pretty Enough plays in the background on repeat. But today as I felt the birthday blues attempt to buzz-kill me, I decided, for your benefit as much as mine, to swim through the self-loathing and into something more hilarious.

So, last year having arbitrarily deemed it “the year of the man”, I decided to celebrate my uninterrupted birthday month by calling upon friends and family to set me up with various pre-approved gentlemen in what I saw as a very mature effort toward angst-prevention. It was a hilarious and mildly successful experiment because when push comes to shove, I consider 4 free dinners and a movie or 2 a mild success. I am an optimist thank you very much!

I went on 4 dates with three gentlemen and came out on the other side with zero love connections but lots of advice. And I figured, if by any chance these musings somehow come to sit in front of some struggling single gentleman looking for a few wooing tips, then I could be of service. And therefore the next couple of posts are your August birthday gifts from me !

Dating Tips for Gentlemen as collected in Year of the Man Experiment ’09.

Tip number one comes from date number one. Date number one was with:

The Architect

The architect was a cutie. Skinny, Bieber-y hair, a hint of a southern drawl, no problems there. He also loved art and planned one of the better dates of my life including perusing a folk art fair, sharing a delicious lunch and the all-time-best art exhibit I have ever experienced. Still smooth sailing, right? Here was the problem with the architect and I can tell you right now, you aren’t going to like it. You are going to say I am too picky and deserve to live a miserable solitary existence in which the burden of planning my own birthday celebrations will always remain on me. I don’t care. I feel strongly about this issue. I can’t help myself.

The problem with the architect was that he was punny. Not in the ironic, isn’t this so stupid that we as vivacious twenty-somethings are using such a childish and simultaneously geriatric form of communication, kind of way. But rather in the, “yeah back in college all of us guys used to call it ArchiTORTURE” and now he is in a fit of laughter at his own simple wordplay, kind of way. It wasn’t good guys. It was not good.

So, my tip for all you would-be-casanovas out there is this: If puns are a big part of who you are don’t set them aside to get the girl only to unleash your dirty little secret during the first year of marriage—that would be unkind and plus there is a segment of the female population out there who love a good pastor-style sense of humor—you guys are meant for one another. But if, on the other hand, you have no real legacy or commitment to punning but use it as an ice-breaker on dates from time to time--

Here is tip # 1. Do not use puns as an ice-breaker on first dates. Puns are goofy things shared with family members who already know your full-range of comedic potential, but your date has no such access to your humor resume. When I hear you use a phrase like “architorture” without then making fun of your own lameness I am left to assume that this as good as it is going to get with you, and I don’t think either of us wants that.Would I have gone on a second date with the architect had he been so inclined? Probably so, but with ample reservation.

Then again, as it stands he is probably writing a blog right now to ladies explaining why licking your plate clean on a first date might send an ill-advised message, so in the end it looks like we are even stevens, but this isn’t about punny Jo it is about me managing my own august angst and it is about you. And if you will take this little piece of advice I think you will find it keeps you from a little something I like to call a DATEsaster. (You see what I did there?)

Coming up on August Angst:
Tip 2 as learned on my dates with the Musician.
Tip 3 as learned on my date with the Oh My God I can’t remember what he did for a living because he was that boring!!!
Tip 4 as learned on the date I never got with the Holy Roller.

Tellers, Keepers and Accidental Peepers

2010-08-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

The other day I went to sign a contract for a consulting job in a bustling office down town. I had never been there before, never spoken with anyone there, never played bridge with any of them or anything else that could be considered mildy bond-forming.

In ten minutes time I heard about:
The death of one woman's sister which had taken place a year before and left her feeling lonely in the world,

The life-threatening surgery that had taken one of the administrative assistants out of the office for an as yet undetermined length of time,

And, for reasons that remain unclear I was offered an alarming amount of information about the first orgasmic experience of one of the employees passing through the cubicle row where I stood innocently awaiting a final copy of my work agreement.

Does this happen to other people, or am I alone in illiciting such ill-earned glimpses into peopl's lives?!?!

It certainly isn't a complaint, just a query. Made me think of a poem I wrote a while back and since I have been slow to post as of late I thought I'd slap it up here and celebrate a rare occasion of two posts in one day--nay hour!

Storykeeper

I used to be promiscuous with my stories,
telling them to anyone who would hear.
I know better now.
You can go back to their apartments for the jewelry
and the drugs,
and for your half of the movie collection.
But, you can never get your secrets back from someone like that.
So they walk around each day,
carrying your frozen footage,
and brag that they know you—which is only one version of the truth.
So now I am a waiter—
a pusher-awayer—
a quiet, persistent delay of gamer.
Now, that I am older and smarter and wiser,
Now, I am a story-keeper.

Capturing Characters

2010-08-14T17:33:00.000-07:00

Note: This was written months ago, revised and I thought posted a week ago and now finally making it to screen.

So, a girl walks into a coffee shop. That girl is me. I meet another girl. She is gorgeous. She is talking with a fellow caffeine-drinking acquaintance about the Twilight series but he is unfamiliar so I wriggle my way into the conversation, true to my baby-child roots. It just so happens that I was persuaded last evening to join Laura and her family at the new Eclipse movie, so today, I have the opportunity, I have an opinion and I swoop in.

“Did you go see the new movie last night?” I asked. She had not. I told her it was creative, better than the others and a tad risqué which she liked. We went our separate ways, I to my computer bar and she 3 feet away at hers. Now, because I am, in fact, the youngest , I have excellent and time-tested eavesdropping skills. So, when I heard the woman’s friend ask “Is she (he gestured at me) “your first stranger of the day”, I felt an “old-school” exhilaration come over me. Not only had I heard their conversation, but they were talking about me!!!

A brief inquiry and I found out that she too was on a new blog adventure. She is meeting new people (one per day), writing about them and currently she is needing to know what to call me, because, “how could I not write about someone with such a beautiful smile?” I tell her my name and her friend smirks because, I happen to have a rather famous one. Then he asks me a lovely question: “Has it been mostly good or mostly bad living with that name?” I smile. It has been mostly good I say, thinking of all the cute boys who have lingered with me just a moment longer because they have an enduring junior-high crush on my celebrity namesake.

Enter cute boy who has a crush on said namesake. Gorgeous woman’s friend introduces me to the new guy who upon hearing my name, not only gets the shakes, but tells me that if I dress as the other Kerri he will let me into a show that he is doing for free. This sounds creepy as I type it out, but trust me he was just a nice kid doubly struck by my own beauty and the memory of my name- sharer in her younger days.

“This all must be great fodder for this writer woman”, I am thinking to myself excitedly. I loved that she was watching my every interaction as though I was the star of my own reality show. (Did I mention that I am a youngest born?) But all attention-whoring aside, I was impressed with this lady having committed to this character-capturing endeavor –just as any good writer needs to do. And just like any good neurotic writer would do, I was counting down the minutes until she finished typing and I could see how she would present me to the world.

Would I be described as pretty? Witty? Charming? Needy, Intimidating, gag-inducing? After what seemed like an eternity, she stopped typing and it was clear that her work was done. Looking at her website my worst fears were realized. She didn’t call me fat or dull or slovenly. She did not call me anything at all.
That little trollop skipped me. I was her character of the day and she had absolutely nothing to say about me. And I know that in the other ways the day was marvelous. After all, I had gotten offered free tickets as you’ll remember—just so long as I show up to an event that I have never heard of, in the previously agreed upon fantasy outfit. There is nothing fishy there, right? All on the up and up?

Nevermind, though. The horror of being passed over is always going to trump the flattery of a perfect stranger asking you to role-play for them at a public event. I think that is a generally agreed upon principal, right?

But guess what, the joke is on that gorgeous girl because I have my own blog and it is a place where everybody knows my name! You all would write about me if I was your stranger of the day, wouldn't you? Maybe if I dressed up as that other Kerri?

Book it!

2010-07-29T06:24:00.000-07:00

2 weeks and it feels like I outta come back with a bang. Unfortunately, despite two weeks of funeral attending, baby welcoming, mission tripping, niece toting and other fodder-filled endeavors, I am sitting here exhausted and unsure that I can come through with any significant amounts of hilarity or profundity on this particular night of writing.
But I miss this little forum and the whole point of doing a blog like this was to practice communication even when there is nothing immediately witty to say…so instead of holding out for the perfect return post sure to leave each of you in a state of dehydration (what with the tears streaming down your face and the humor-induced pee-a-streamin’), I have decided to throw another list your way— I’m calling it, Please read at least one of these books this summer if you haven’t or haven’t in a while. I am sure that by Sunday I will be back into the rhythm of rocking your worlds with my words, but until them I hope that you will start developing relationships with other authors out there, like the ones who wrote these:

With Regard to Singleness
• He’s Just Not that Into You: I know this could not be more cliché, but this book is hilarious (though repetitive) and honest (it hurts so good).
• Committed: This is the same author who wrote Eat, Pray, Love…I believe that should be enough of an endorsement if you read that one however if it isn’t you should know that this is a book that is all about marriage and yet somehow made me even more pleased with this whole nun-like situation I got going on here.
With Regard to Spirituality:
• The tale of the three Trees: This is a children’s book. Most of us need a good children’s book from time to time, and I this is mine for this particular juncture in life. Check it out!
• Orthodoxy: I keep finding out how many people have not read this book and its killing me. He is the Donald Miller of the 50’s (or whatever time period he wrote in) people! And if you don’t know who Donald Miller is, well he is the G.K. Chesterton of the 200’s, people—go out and start reading!

With Regard to Writing
• On Writing: I have never read a novel by Stephen King. Not into gore, and I used to think someone who produced books as quickly as he did must be a trash writer who was in it for the money. If you are still trapped in this way of thinking, please read this book. It is one of my all-time favorite memoirs. I just re-read it which should tell you something because I am of the mind that there are too many books to go around knocking on the doors of all your old (literary) flames. But with Stephen, I had to see him another time, I had to remember and relive what we had together before, and I do not doubt that in time I will go back for thirds!

Now, do you have any reading demands for me? I probably won't get to them 'til 2012 or so, but I do like to know where I am headed!

Lost and Found

2010-07-09T14:22:00.000-07:00

A couple of summers ago I was in my car, stopped at a red light, when a homeless man started eyeing me through the windshield. I groaned because my soul has yet to find a way to deal with the stress of homelessness. I feel condescending when I hand out 50 cents from my cup-holder. I feel Jesusless when I pretend not to see another human life pleading with me. I feel generally sad about this whole mess of a world where so many are overlooked.

So, on this occasion I rolled down my window to hear the request of this gentlemen only to find out that he hadn’t one. Instead, he was hurriedly trying to make me aware of a note that had been lodged underneath my windshield wiper. I got out and apprehended the note thanking my stranger-friend for his generosity toward me. The note read:

We found your IPOD on the ground
Please call us at 624-XXXX.

When I arrived at the couples house, just a few doors down from my own, they were apologetic saying that they had knocked on my door and tried to email me through my school list-serv, but nothing had worked until now. I laughed, thanked them and left quickly, but I keep that note in my desk drawer as a little reminder of their kindness.

Thinking back, I probably should have been more surprised at their generosity, except it seems that my belongings have always had guardian angels. Some people can boast surviving deathly tidal waves or car crashes and I mean to take nothing from them. It just happens that the angels assigned to me are very concerned with material things and have focused most of their attention in this realm of security.

Last night was no different. Topher Grace and I were standing around in a parking lot talking about God’s providence when his phone buzzed.” You’re calling me,” he said, and I politely disagreed. As it turns out Hal was calling him. Hal picked up my cell after it fell out of my pocket during an ice-cube war I was having with friends earlier that evening. Hal told Topher to have me call him the next day and he would bring me my phone. I wondered out loud why this man would have chosen to call Topher of all people. "Well, I texted you tonight when we got here," Toph said, so I was probably the last text on your phone. This was hilarious news to me since the previous-to-last text I got from Topher was probably 2 months ago and the last time he and I hung out alone together was probably never. What luck, huh?

Can something this inconsequential be attributed to divine providence?
I really don’t know.

But I know that this eerie inability I have to lose things, speaks to me. It allows me to live freely and without fear because someone out there, be it God or man, is always looking out for me. When I finally got home last night I realized that Topher wasn’t the only one who received a call from Hal. Liv and Collin had driven over to my house at 10:30 at night to leave a note for me about my phone, fearful that an email might not be enough.

Liv had to work at 4:30 in the morning and could have benefited from going to bed early, but she was complelled in the moment of decision, to choose my luxury over her need. That is goodness. And I believe that such goodness has a source. And that source is near to me and to Hal and even to the helpful homeless man that I don’t quite know that to do with. And this source has created and situated all of us in time and space in such a way so that we may “seek him and perhaps grasp for him and even find him, though he is not far from each of us.” I hope today is a day of finding and being found for each of you and may your personal property angels be always as diligent as mine.

P.S. In a Bonus God move, the returner of my phone was quite a handssome fellow. Drove a truck, had a dog, made me want to chunk my phone in the back of his pickup just so he could bring it to me again.

P.P.S. I will be out of town on a church trip this week, so no posts for a while. I can hear the sobs of all 8 of you now.

Fourth of July-- New York

2010-06-30T22:02:00.000-07:00

Soooooo, even though I meant to just slap up another old poem in preparation for our upcoming national day-o-celebration, I ended up writing a whole post today. Thought it was funny and interesting, got home after letting all the creative juices really steep only to find that what I'd written never really came together in any sort of delicious medley of flavors.

I guess that means that those of you who were hoping againgst hope for a little ode to the US of A will have your wish granted today. Let's call it the cherry atop the cupcake of freedom you've been snacking on all these years. Wrote this one when I was 20 years old and interning at a Multi-Cultural Church Plant in NYC. If you don't like it, I am guessing it is because you are an illiterate terrorist.

Red shirts, mini skirts,
halter tops, incessant pops,
bottled water,
only a dollar,
breathmints and sentiment,
summer breeze sweetly kissing the skin,
quiet joy and unresolved sin.
Barricades and lemonade,
baseball caps, bad raps,
starless sky,
the time of their lives,
vibrant children, young women, old men,
year after year, stand together again.

Love is in the Air

2010-06-27T10:09:00.000-07:00

sin
Can we all just agree that airplanes should be segregated? Not in the everybody move to duh back of duh bus, kind of way, but more in the happily married to the right and searching singles to the left-- please do not forget your complimentary glass-o-wine -- kind of way. I mean would it really be so hard, to add a simple checkbox to the ticket purchasing paperwork? I am looking at you American Airlines. Check out the sample below:

Yes, I would like to participate in a wholesome mid-air mixer with my fellow travelers of the world. It only makes sense and life is short so why not?

Yes, I would like to participate in a mid-air mixer but my wife has frowned upon the idea.

No, I do not prefer to meet anyone interesting during this particular flight even though I am caged up with these people anyway and in the case of lightning strike they will become my companions in death, but no thanks I’ll just sit here reading my comic book and leaning my seat all the way back as I am sure no one around me will desire any leg space whatsoever over the course of the next 3 hours until we land and I finally get home to my hermit crabs and PSP.

See, isn’t that simple? And its possible you could even cut an unnecessary word or phrase here and there if needed. All I am saying is, it is starting to feel outright wasteful l when I get to the airport, scout out three or four handsome twenty-somethings and then inevitably get seated next to two homely women reading romance novels, within devastating view of the dark-haired guy reading Blue Like Jazz. What gives?

I mean the other day I saw an add for speed-dating, but who really has the energy or moxy to sign up for something as new and risky as that? On the other hand, for a lover of efficiency (which I am not, but take a long meandering walk with me on this subject anyway) airplane dating is just a sensible and concurrent solution to two enduring problems: in-flight boredom/anxiety and a regrettable amount of experience playing solitaire.

What can we do to realize this dream? In the hands of the right marketer I think it could boost and dare-I-say revolutionize the airline industry. So write your representatives, senators and friends in the biz until we see this change because , until that time all we really have on our side are prayers of providence. That said, I happen to be boarding a plane around 9:45 tomorrow morning. Intercession Welcome!

Just a Little Crush

2010-06-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

I have lived in Austin for 4.5 years and never during this time have I ever ventured to Barton Springs Pool for a swim. Neither have I made any efforts to become acquainted with Deep Eddy (one of the other crowd-pleasing spring pools in the Texas Hill Country). Never, that is, until a few weeks ago when it became a regular hobby of mine. I have to admit, it is a magical experience and one worthy to be recreated daily in sultry times such as these, but how does one go from complete spring-pool abstinence to weekly, sometimes daily rendezvous? The answer: girl-crush.

I have to admit that I, Kerri Nolastname (pronounced no-lost-nuh-may), have a huge girl-crush on Drew B., a former co-worker of mine. Drew loves spring-pool swimming and has been the first person whose mere invite got me instantly in a swimsuit, happily navigating a parking nightmare and wading through the filthy, groping seaweed that is allowed to grow free in a natural pool. This girl has the power! So, can you imagine my spiritual intoxication last week when I ran into her at the park (which I totally always go to and wasn’t hoping to run into her at) and she introduced me to a friend as her girl-crush. I quickly reigned in all of my girl-crush reciprocity glee and gave a simple “what can I say” shrug to her friend and then hurried off before I ruined the moment with persistent giggles or inappropriate weeping. So, all this heterosexual girl love really got me, (now called L.L. Cool K.) thinking…

It was tempting to avoid the girl-crush concept altogether since I know that it can be controversial for those who have no sense of humor. But upon further consideration I decided that not only would this would get me some real points with Drew, but it also gets at a topic that has been hovering all about me for the last three years or so—chemistry. What is it?!?! What do you think are the factors that contribute to good chemistry? How come there are some friends who I love deeply but who could frankly never convince me that seaweed is ok in a structure that is shaped and touted as a swimming POOL. Is chemistry linked to newness? Is it that you see something in the other person that you know you need more of and thus you are drawn to them on some meta-level of experience? Is it about immediacy as far as comfort levels are concerned? What do you think? When you hear the word chemistry, ESPECIALLY in a non-romantic sense, what does it mean to you?

Romance Religion Revealed (and other notable reunion moments)

2010-06-20T21:15:00.000-07:00

1. Passing up the opportunity to go to an after-hours swim party in Moffat, TX population 150. Sorry guys, as totally unawkward as that sounds, I think I’m just gonna stick with the Cupid Shuffle and head on home.

2. Watching an old kindergarten buddy:
Storm the empty dance floor ,
steal the mic from the D.J.,
proclaim that the next song would blow our minds,
unleash the krunk-maker we all know as “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black-Eyed Peas. And then,
dance solo for one of the longer 3 minutes of all of our lives.

3. Spending time with BFFs Liv and Amy maniacally scheming pranks to be performed by Liv’s Husband. Should he attend the reunion as a French man? A swinger? An intriguing combination of the two? Endless possibilities.

4. Listening to a former Spanish class dreamboat ask if I am married and seem noticeably astonished that my answer was no, not in the “What’s wrong with you” kind of way in the tradition of small town church ladies, but more in the “what is wrong with everyone else on the planet” kind of way” . Thank you kind sir for this most appropriate response!

5. Running into Freddie Prinze Jr.’s old friend in the stairwell on the way out of the building and pretending to casually inquire about FPJ’s whereabouts.

Me: Oh hey there, you might know. You know who I was just remembering was that guy Freddie, are you still in contact with him?
FPJs Soccer Buddy: Yeah man, I wish he was here but I heard he was in Asia again.
Me: Oh he is in south east asia, huh? What for?
FPJs Soccer Friend: Missionary Work
Me: Missions work, huh? Neat. So, but seriously no current contact with him?
FPJ’s Soccer Friend: Yeah, no he’s just still a single man out there on his own so he’s kind of not tied down anywhere, like the rest of us I guess.
Me: and you're dead to me Soccer Friend. See you in 10 years.

So, there you have it. I remain in romantic agnosticism. But at least my friend Gwyneth facebook stalked him on my behalf and reports that he is now hideous, (I believe her exact words were, “ his hair is a little flat these days, so he is not quite as hot as we used to think.”)

Any of you ladies and gents have any interesting H.S. reunion fodder?

Reunion Romance

2010-06-16T21:21:00.000-07:00

When I was 17 and only months away from graduating high school, I took a Physics Class. This was a mistake for any academic purposes as I routinely made A’s on the content portion of exams and then promptly failed the adjoined (and much weightier) practical application portions. My classmates were literally sleeping on their drool-stained desks each day as I hurriedly asked question after clarifying question, but unlike me, they effortlessly aced each week’s test. It might as well have been an exam over their own likes and dislikes, so disparate was their preparation compared with their success. And as you might imagine, for a person who genuinely argued that perfectionism was “of the Lord” Physics, as a subject, was not fun for me.

On the other hand, the class did have its social perks. One of my closest cheerleading buddies sat next to me so we eagerly engaged in prom talk, who was breaking up with whom, and which untrained newbies would dare tryout to take our spots. (It seems only fair to mention that some have said that there still has never been a suitable replacement). Then, on the other side of me sat Leo D. , one of the most popular guys in our class and since he happened to be star-gazingly in love with my cheerleader friend he included me in most of his discussions, jokes and, if memory serves, I believe there was a one-time only invitation to a hot-tub party in his backyard. Come to think of it, Freddie Prinze Jr. , might have been at highly inappropriate hot-tub party of 2000 as well.

Freddie Prinze Jr. , sat behind me in Physics. Every day when I entered the classroom prepared for a nervous breakdown he sang me all the way to my desk: “Hey Kerri, your so fine, your so fine you blow my mind, Hey Kerri (clap-clap, clap-clap) Hey Kerri. And every day I giggled and gushed, but somehow the idea that Freddie Prinze Jr. might have been interested in me for more than a physics-neighbor relationship, eluded me. It would have taken a miracle from God for me to be unattracted to this boy. He had 4 out of 5 of the elements catalogued in my FABULOUS FIVE Boy Features List. And since it wouldn’t be nice not to share…

1. The boy shall be skinny, thin will not do, I need to see some ribs sticking out of that undersized ironic tee that your wearing.
2. The boy shall wear glasses. Smart = Hot and I know there is no evidence connecting poor vision with intelligence, but it just seems intuitive, doesn’t it?
3. The boy shall have good mandibles. I don’t know if that is the correct way to say it, it is just what I have always said. This basically means a strong jaw-line which is emphasized in moments of anger or intensity.
4. The boy shall have funky hair. (It can be shaggy, spikey or dreaded…it just needs to be something that shows a propensity for moving away from the status quo.
5. They boy shall have good facial hair. (Freddie did not have this one at the time, but neither did anyone else because it violated school policy)

So, why are we (somewhat creepily) talking about a boy from the past, not to mention pool parties and cheerleading drama? Well, mostly because I am 2 days away from my high school reunion and a brief facebook stalking endeavor a few years back indicated that Freddie Prinze Jr. was still on the market. You see I became obsessed with FPJ after breaking up with an ex-boyfriend because I realized that he was exactly like F.P.J. except F.P.J. was clearly madly in love with me and probably had to endure years of counseling for my unintentional rejection. F.P.J. became the bread and the wine of my romantic communion. He was the one to metaphorically turn to when things seemed hopeless in the love department. He became ritualized in my mind and as oft as I thought of him I remembered how he had sacrificially poured out his awkward teenage love while I was still shamefully unawares. So this weekend could be the moment I see his face again, people! This is huge! What will happen?!What will I become?!

Weigh in on the options below:
A. Romance Atheist: He will have become bald fat and grumpy and will confess that he sang to me to get the attention of my cheerleader friend because he knew she was attracted to tenors. This causes me to lose the faith and begin my life as a cat collector despite my well-documented disdain for these, the snobbiest of animals.
B. Romance Agnostic: He will not show up, allowing me to remain in the sea of mystery. Sometimes sure of love, but often pretty sure that I am too smart for all of this silly jibba jabba.
C. Romance Believer: He will have arrived early at the pre- reunion dinner and is waiting for me at the door. “You can go in there and have a taquito”, he says “Or you can come with me and we can finally begin something that should have started 10 years ago.” I pause to consider both delicious choices, wonder if it is uncouth to suggest a few taquitos to go, then err on the side of safety and join him taquitoless in the van that he usually uses to serve meals to the homeless. He has a picnic inside, confesses that each day of the last 10 years he has been planning for this moment and asks me to join him at the reunion as his fiancé.
D. WRITE YOUR OWN THEORY and POST AS A COMMENT!
I will be back on Sunday with the Results!

Poem from the past

2010-06-13T21:38:00.000-07:00

I am exhausted! Summer is not offering nearly as much rest as I had hoped for. So, for tonight I am going to just post and old poem of mine that I came across that seems timely.

Plunging through the darkness,
I fall freely into the abyss,
Called eternity where,
Figures skip past me,
Dancing and suggesting,
And analyzing life, but
They are caught in a cloud,
Like sinners in love,
Lower than heaven,
But higher than earth,
Lifelessness cures the soul of sin,
The mind of burden,
The body of ache,
And I hear that
God speaks in this chaos,
Called sleep.

ConGRADulations!

2010-06-09T23:04:00.000-07:00

I am not much of a Karate person, which is a shame because a formidable number of young(ish) men seem to have taken up this hobby with a misplaced assurance that it will drive the young(ish) ladies wild (Big Frown). That said, I do fondly recall the time when my 9 or 10 year old nephew, Taylor, first chopped a piece of wood in half with his bare hand. Now, I don’t mean to diminish his accomplishment in any sense, but this wood-splitting feat might as well have been an invitation to the president’s cabinet if you trusted my subsequent reaction; quickening heart beat, goofy smile and I believe by all standards an unreasonable amount of tears. It was a puzzling day—the beginning of an era.

That day was at least 8 years ago, because last week, Taylor, along with two of my nieces graduated from high school and I am sitting here trying to figure out what makes these events so unbearable. Not just graduations necessarily, although I think there is a general consensus that they have their place on the list of potentially hellish recurrences. I’m sure you need no reminding of snail-paced lines, exitless speeches and seat saving for 25 of your closest relatives. These things do not quickly escape the memory.

But the unbearableness that I am referring to is bigger than a commencement ceremony . It is all the reminders, little and big that this group is joining me in adulthood. The thing is, the lives of these children—their milestones, have been, in some way, the living scrapbook of my own childhood.

Kerri’s Scrapbook
Page 1: My oldest niece is born. I am a third grader at Southwest Elementary School. Within a few short months I have mastered two of life’s most useful skills: changing diapers and using adjectives. And with that in mind I feel obliged to tell you that changing diapers can be:
smelly,
squishy,
sticky,
and if you play your cards right,
speedy. (Maybe alliteration came along in third grade as well?)

Page 125: My sister’s youngest son is born 10 days after I officially become someone’s girlfriend for the first time.
Baby-talk the baby, sweet-talk the boy.
Swoon over baby’s first steps, Get dumped by the boy.
Daydream about baby’s future, daydream about getting back with the boy.
Continue this pattern for the next 50 pages.

Page 327: Taylor tries football, while I try Central Asia. I am not saying God ordained the two events to be mutually exclusive but I am pretty sure that if a lame karate trick choked me up, then seeing a successful interception would have most likely resulted in me experiencing some sort of pride-induced heart attack.

And so all of this has me thinking about the concept of nostalgia. Is it a good witch or a bad witch? I think Nostalgia of the Ebenezer Stone variety is a beautiful thing. It is the all-too rare acknowledgement that “The Lord has done great things for us, “ and here in this place we will remember how we have been provided for.

And yet, the whole scene can be so quickly turned on its head, becoming more like an episode of Hoarders than a holy moment of reverence. Remember when she was five, when he was this big, when they climbed that very tree? In these moments I hang onto memories not in awe of what I have been given but in fear that whatever the gift, it was the last of it.

Here is the thing though, It isn’t. There is more goodness coming my way. More than enough for me and for all these 18 year olds who I feel compelled to swaddle before sending on to the voting booth and all the rest of life’s next adventures. Enough Food, Enough Love, Enough Funny . Enough grace for the times when we aren’t so certain that there is enough. Enough 20- something men who never set foot in a Dojo.

Single-handedly Remedying Summer Listlessness

2010-06-03T12:15:00.000-07:00

The single life offers many simple pleasures--not the least of these being a gratuitous amount of time with which to pursue selfish and often meaningless activities. Some singletons are beckoned by the call of war-mongering video games each day after work. For others, the humiliating and unconscionable act of dressing cats in “adorable outfits” will fill every unused hour until somebody finally (and inexplicably) “puts a ring on it”. With my free time, I MAKE LISTS.

No, not because I love crossing off meticulously crafted “To-Do” items ; although, I won’t deny that there is a certain arousal which accompanies the merciless and inky slashing of a formerly onerous task. But practical lists have a time-sensitive usefulness and I much prefer to accompany my bullets with a more impractical and useless yet nostalgic set of concepts.
A Few of My Favorite Kerri-Authored lists.
• Things to do Before I die (refusing to call this a “bucket list” because:
a. I came up with it when I was 5, long before Mr. Freeman started taking all the credit, AND
b. I somehow find it untoward to include a reference to the gruesome act of death by hanging, into my everyday vernacular)
• My Friends (this is exactly what you think it is—a throwback to an oft maligned grade-school practice of mine. You decide if it is charming or tragic.) Incidentally, blog commenters have been doing very well on this list as of late.
• My Favorite Words (illustrious, disillusioned, penultimate, sophomoric, loquacious, rotund, disenchanted, non-sensical, amorous, malcontent, misanthrope august and angst to name a few…tell me if these show up with too much regularity in these musings---ooh, muse, that is a nice one too!)
• Pet Peeves ( Perhaps the most gratifying of all lists, because there is nothing like formally documenting for oneself these insidious and recurring provocateurs of unmerited rage.)

And now my most recent and new favorite list, for your consideration, is --Schmet Schmeeves! My friend John Malkovich recently introduced me to this concept as a sort of answer to the Pet Peeve list. Schmet Schmeeves are those random and inexplicable personal delights that we all experience each day. Below, you will see my list in its infancy. Let me know what would be at the top of your S.S. list!

My Schmet Schmeeves
• When people use crisp and prolonged “s” sounds in their speech
• Stepping on Acorns
• Clenched Jaws
• The experience of a muted world afforded by underwater swimming
• Skipping
• Watching toddlers’ first encounters with infants (smaller than me?)
• Walls made of mirrors
• The sound of one’s own name spoken by a loved one
• Frostys
• Being caught in the rain
• The taste of tears
• Hugging someone and hearing their heart beating

Word of Warning: There are those in my community, Brad Pitt included, that take issue with this name “Schmet Schmeeve” because of the use of “Sh” tacked on to the words’ front ends—a language tool which is traditionally used to mock or somehow slight the word to which it is attached. I have no such problem at this time and find it linguistically acceptable to use the “sh” function when referring to these little joys. However, if you are of the Pitt Ilk feel free to rename your list in a way which is suitable to you. Now hurry up and start basking in the acknowledgement of all of your own simple pleasures!

I will...

2010-05-28T12:40:00.000-07:00

I have been to a LOT of weddings. I have been in a lot of weddings (9 or 10 depending on what you classify as “in”). And, if I have done my math correctly, and accurately assessed my current relationships, I would anticipate that my wedding going days are far from over. And at this point, I don't think it should come as any great surprise to you, that I happen to LOVE weddings. They are kind of “my thing”.

I LOVE love and ritual and strapless dresses. I LOVE standing in front of people, and holding flowers, and listening to proposal stories. I LUH-OVE fancy pigs in blankets and dancing and communal agreement. And maybe most of all, I LOVE lines of gentlemen in tuxedos. (You must have seen that last one coming, right?) But in all my years of nuptial extravaganzas, I had, until last week, never had the pleasure of attending a vow renewal ceremony.

I wasn’t quite sure what to think about this type of invitation at first. It would be kind of like a wedding, but not exactly-- I’m thinking less nerves all around, but also fewer strapless dresses. I had my doubts that this “re-do” would be as romantic or exhilarating as a “real wedding”, but, I agreed to attend because I love these people and their children and the community of faith to which we all belong.

I arrived at the mountain-top where this shindig was to begin and immediately saw the bride and groom, standing together, greeting all of their guests. “TOGETHER BEFORE THE CEREMONY!?!?,” little anal-retentive Kerri screamed from deep inside me. But bigger, happier, Kerri saw the beauty –the freedom-- in choosing familiarity over formality at this particular juncture in life. So I thanked the guests of honor and found a seat on the stone ledge at the back of the little chapel.

Then, at sunset, as the most perfect of breezes passed over us, the pastor began the ceremony and I cried, as is my practice. “Promises," he said, "are a way of hinging yourself to someone else’s future." I cried harder, as also tends to be my practice. I cried remembering my one and only cynical stage in life, during which I came to believe that all promises should be outlawed. Vows, it stood to reason then, were fickle and untrustworthy sentiments dangerously springing forth from some prideful well inside of each of us, pretending to know how, and who we would become in a few moments or months or decades. Lets face it, people make promises all the time with honest intentions and then their dads die or they gain 50 pounds or they move to a new city and meet someone more interesting.

Nevertheless, here we all stood as a congregation watching two people who made promises and who kept enough of them along the way to celebrate 25 years together. They repeated the vows of their youth, agreeing in front of God and these witnesses that if given the choice, they would do it all again; and then they invited us to their home for appetizers and champagne toasts.

I smiled as I arrived at their house realizing that there were no strangers at this reception, meaning no “Some guy at this wedding is going to fall in love with me” fantasies. But somehow the evening in and because of that once troublesome familiarity proved to be quite magical. I am sure the evening air and romantic white lanterns played some part in the night’s dreaminess, but largely it was the company that we kept. No one there was obligated to be my dance partner and yet, I danced. I danced more than usual, if I'm being honest. Because, in this community I am known and I am loved outside of the boundaries of obligation.

These people have seen me in pajamas and bad moods. For goodness sake, some of them have even seen me in swimwear! And still, I am loved and I am chosen by them. And it is true that sometimes this group-- these people-- have not been what I had daydreamed and doodled about in my more sophomoric understanding of relationships. But, in as much as it is possible and knowing as much as one can know, I am willing to hinge myself to their futures. Because, at the end of an evening twirling and stumbling with these children, sages and friends, I pledge that I too, would do it all over again.

And so,
prayer by prayer,
one step in front of the other,
as days domino into years,

I will.

Letting Go. Moving On.

2010-05-25T20:20:00.001-07:00

Friends, I have officially been left out in the cold by love once again.

I really thought the two of us had something special.

Depth &humour
Youth & wisdom
Beauty & mystery

Yes, we had it all as far as I could tell. And I allowed myself to believe that things were just going to be somehow, magically different this time. But they really are all the same, aren’t they? Because here I sit alone on a Tuesday evening and all I have are some leftover peanut butter balls and the memories of our 3 year rendezvous.

I still remember the beginning like it was yesterday, though. Staying up ‘til 3 in the morning replaying every word that was spoken and trying to take in any and every supposed clue that may or may not have been intentionally meant to convey anything. Exhausted each evening by the dreams of our future together only to wake up each morning late for work and confused over the seemingly thin line between reality and fantasy in this relationship. Yep, same old friggin story.

It is times like these that almost make me believe that maybe the gaping hole in our hearts cannot be adequately filled with television programming. I just have to face it, LOST is gone for good and I have to move on. But let me tell you something, I only have so many years of youthful slothfulness left in me and I don’t have time to sit around waiting for the next theologically inspiring, visually captivating, heart-wrenching, character-driven drama to come around.

Lost is gone and I am the one who needs saving. So, I am going to dive right back into the waters with what I am calling my:

Lost Rebound Tele-Dates for Summer 2010!!!!!!!!!!
• The Bachelorette Season 6 starring Ali F. (Yes, Judgy McPrideful, I do realize that this is the lowest form of soul-stealing television but did you not just hear the trauma I am going through with my recent loss?)
• The Colbert Report and The Daily Show (Please tell me they are not going on summer hiatus because I cannot loose my t.v. love interest and my t.v. best friends all in one month. I am just not strong enough for that.)
• Arrested Development on D.V.D. (Everyone who is funny likes this show and because of my extreme devotion to one show in particular I have been unable to invite any new shows in to my life…until now!)
• Parenthood on NBC ( I watched the premier a few months back and thought it was solid. A former Gilmore Girl, laughter and tears all in one episode? This definitely has my name on it, and summer is a great time to catch up.)
And finally,
• Late Night With Jimmy Fallon (He is adorable and funny and in just a few months he will once again be my appetizer before this guy.)

That is it for me as far as programmatic planning goes. Am I missing out out any potential telivisory love affairs. You'd let me know, right?

K.K. and CoCo Part II: Love Never Fails

2010-05-23T06:30:00.000-07:00

Edward, Catherine Zeta Jones, and I shared quick hugs and hellos before quickly finding our stair separated seats. I sat there in the balcony for about 20 minutes before realizing just how pathetic this situation might seem to the former man of my dreams. Here it is 7 years since we dated and I am still presumably dateless, AND, beyond datelessness, I have evidently alienated any and all girl friends who might otherwise have agreed to share an evening of laughter with me.

This was not helping my perpetual quest to portray myself as a non-crazy, but these are the moments in life when one must practice thankfulness. So, with my hard-earned maturity, I created this:

Things to be Thankful for in this Precise Moment
1. Cool jewelry, borrowed at the last minute to keep me from looking completely homely --Check.
2. A good book in my purse to stave off any pre-show boredom—Check.
3. Five empty seats to my right (potentially awaiting my bevy of hilarious gentlemen callers). Check, Check, Check, Check, Check.

It pains me that I am unable to sufficiently capture the scope of ridiculous prayers and unfair judgments that raced through my brain once the hope of handsome chair neighbors invaded my brain, but here Is a beginners taste of what went down:

Actual Life Event: Poor innocent couple walks ominously close to my five seats
Thought Life Response: “No Jesus, not a couple, a man, M-A-Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”
Actual Life Event: A balding man and his 3-beer- toting compadre head my way.
Thought life Response: “ Ok, yes Jesus those are men but can we hold off for someone who is not so certain that he is going to need that much alcohol just to start the show?”
Writing World Confession & Response: And, don’t even get me started on all the short skirted, emo-wearing, and overweight women who dared to come near, because of which, I was eventually forced to protect MY SEATS with Twilight style vampire hisses unleashed at any and all of the aforementioned.
Are you there God, It’s me KerrAZY.

Luckily, my reading material kept me from blatantly staring people down for the full wait time. So, there I sat, nervously flipping through my copy of Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters like the Conan-loving-fantasy-freak that I am. Perhaps at this point it might be helpful to review the evening thus far.

I showed up:
• on time (hoping to be in bed by 9:30)
• alone
• in borrowed accessories,
• 4th grade level fantasy novel in hand,
• grumpily jeering at any women or ring wearing men, AND
• earnestly anticipating a love connection.

Somehow, things did not go as planned and those 5 beautiful spaces to my right were unsatisfactorily filled. The girl who sat next to me was skinny and blond and lucky that she arrived late enough in the evening for my hair-pulling and eye gouging reflexes to be in something of a hiatus. I was sort of starting to doubt the wisdom of paying quadruple the ticket price to get into a sold out show-- even for my little Snow Cone.

But, when that Late Night Band started playing and my giant toothpick of a man started talking and singing and showing clip upon clip of Walker Texas Ranger, all my neurotic worries drifted away. I was in the “Cone-Zone” where puppet dogs are inexplicably humorous and self-deprecation is less a pathos-inspiring habit and more a money-making endeavor. As we wrapped up the evening Conan explained that this trip to Austin was his first. Yes, Conan O’Brien chose to spend his only day in Austin with me, the Kerr-bear, an experience that left him “awed and thankful”. Not the first time I have gotten this feedback after a first date, but it’s always nice to hear. And now friends, I suspect we have all simultaneously arrived at the next logical question. How long before he introduces me to his parents?

K.K. & CoCo "Episode 1"

2010-05-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

Last Night I went to see Conan O’Brien at Austin Music Hall. It should furthermore be understood that I am deeply and increasingly in love with Conan O’Brien. Admittedly, I say the same things about Tony Romo and Ryan Gosling, but with Conan its different. I actually believe in my heart that, if he didn’t have a wife and children, and if I could only corner all 6 foot 7 of him in an elevator somewhere, that we could start a life together and never look back on the days before we had each other. Perhaps these and similar imaginings contributed in some mysterious way to me attending this show unaccompanied. We can never know for certain.

As I tried to find my place in the longest line of people I have ever seen in my life, I kept an eye out for any single, glasses -wearing men demonstrating subtle but intentional ties to the Christian faith (a Jesus-Fish ring or a tattooed Bible reference perhaps). You see, I might have gently suggested to God that meeting my husband at a Conan O’Brien Show could really make up for years of confusing singledom. Not that I was in any way scoffing at his sovereign plan for my life or anything -- just trying to be useful really--help the big guy see things from a fresh angle ‘cause it sort of seems like he’s been a bit stuck in a rut when it comes to my dating experiences lately (sigh).

As fate would have it, there was a cute guy right behind me in line but I could not completely convince myself that the lovely girl he was with was his cousin, especially after he put his hand in her back pocket. However, behind the cousin couple was another cute guy. But, as it turns out it is sort of awkward to start a conversation with a complete stranger who is 3 people down from you in a line of other complete strangers. So, I could only assume that my divine “hottie” provision would come along inside.

Just before I entered the building,however, I heard a familiar voice yell out my name. A voice I couldn’t quite place but whose loveliness was undeniable. I turned, hopeful that it was one of my Austin crushes, thrilled to see me and hoping to grab coffee afterward. But when my eyes scoured the crowd to match the sounds with a sight, I saw that it was not a hunky crush at all. It was my hunky college boyfriend Edward Norton with his beautiful post-college wife. They had tickets on the floor, mere sweat droplets away from Conan. "Great," I thought, as they headed hand in hand to their superior seats. I gotta find out what kind of prayer beads that guy uses.

Stay tuned for Part 2 which may or may not include the details of my make-out session with one red-haired CoCo Puff.

Welcome Friends!

2010-05-15T14:39:00.000-07:00

My name is Kerri. I have a good old fashioned fear of social networking and lots of other internet communication, but, I want to tell my stories. No, I am not 87 years old though I do enjoy a box of Raisenets when I head down to the local picture show. And with whom do I go to the picture show, you ask? Um, usually a group who I believe the great Beyonce would refer to as “All My Single Ladies”. That’s right, I am 27, well beyond my self-planned age of matrimony and life, for me, can be hilarious and tragic. That’s the stuff blogs are made of right? I hope people will join me on this storytelling journey and if you choose to, be sure and check-out the helpful reading hints below:

1. I suffer from delusions of grandeur and therefore I would prefer not to use friends and families names on this blog, just in case I become an overnight sensation and I am asked to become a writer for a major television show. I don’t want people hassling my family for money or autographs due to my overwhelming fame. Those good people did not ask for that. Therefore I will refer to all of my family and friends with celebrity pseudonyms. Will this make it confusing if I am talking about an actual celebrity? Probably. We’ll figure it out as we go along.

2. I am a Christian …I am hoping more of the Mother Theresa variety than-- oh let’s say the Glen Beck variety but fair warning faith and Jesus are going to come up along the way if you are gracious enough to read these musings.

3. I don’t like curse words. I think they are cheap and more weighty than we give them credit for. I especially don’t like to hear teenagers use curse words. However sometimes using a curse word for comedic effect is EFFING HILARIOUS, so you might see one here and there on this site.

4. I ADORE lists and Haikus, and as such regular readers might enjoy occasional mid-week posts in these glorious mediums. Otherwise, more lengthy posts will be go-up each Sunday.

5. I want to be honest with you so I will tell you what I told my college roommates. I will probably always choose a man over you. It isn't that I don't care for you-- its just that I am not going to marry you. So be forewarned, although if you are anything like me, advanced warning that someone is non-committal will do you no good. In fact it might make you want to stick around all the more and that is fine by me (: