Gushing Honesty

I love sneaking peeks of other people's writing. I am currently engrossed in a book called, "Other People's Love Letters: 150 Letters You Were Never Meant to See." Reading these makes me feel like I'm the teacher who caught two love birds passing notes in class and decides to save the notes and read them with a glass of wine rather than throw them away.

That's kind of creepy, but I suppose sneaking in on someone else's romance is sort of creepy in and of itself.

The letters range from small words of poetic beauty on random pieces of paper to full length letters and emails with the names appropriately disguised. Letters of lustful verbs hidden behind exclamation points and commas. Letters of apologies, regrets, of infidelities.

Where are these from? Who are they too? Were any of them for me? Did my father write the one on page...page... it doesn't matter. It's so easy to get wrapped up in an other's romance that I could quite easily forget my own.

Cardiac

Socks. Undies. Teeth. Brush. Book.
Socks. Undies. Teeth. Brush. Book.
Socks. Undies. Teeth. Brush. Book.

Surely on 15 minutes of sleep I could remember a list as simple as this, I thought to myself as I approached the hotel door. I slipped my key card into the slot and waited for the light to flash green.

Green.
Green.
Green.

I threw all of our things into the suitcase. The one with the gold ribbon. I would hate to lose it at the airport. I scanned the room one last time before jamming myself, my stuff, and my two friends into the 5th floor elevator.

4.
3.
2.
1.

Till the tears run down from my eyes
Lord - somebody - somebody
Can anybody find me - somebody to love?
(He works hard)
Everyday - I try and I try and I try

I answer my phone only to hear another family member seek out all the information I have.
-Yes, Grandma is conscious.
-No, Grandma is in a room now.
-No, the doctors haven't said anything.
-Yes, I just checked out and yes I will be staying at the hospital tonight.
-Yes, I presented my paper but am skipping the rest of the conference.
-No, Frontier will not refund or reschedule our flights.
-Yes, I'm pissed.

Punishment Jar

The Punishment Jar was the worst possible way to discipline a teenager.
A fish bowl filled with little pieces of colored paper, each with a punishment of varying degrees written upon it.

On the phone after 4pm?
Turn your head and pick 1 slip.
"Take the trash out for two weeks."

Five minutes late on curfew?
Turn your head and pick 1 slip.
"Clean out the fridge."

Caught with a boy in the house?
Turn your head and pick 2 slips.
"Let Bailey take care of Jonas the fish for a week." (He died that week.)
"Organize Andrew's entire LEGO collection by brick type, size, and color." (It took me 4 months to do that one.)

Lie to your parents and run away to Minnesota for a week?
Turn your head and pick 3 slips.
"No concerts for a month."
"No weekend dates for two months."
"Take everything out of your room except for your bedding and one book."
(To this day, I feel like my mother rigged that round of the Punishment Jar game.)

I hated the Punishment Jar. I loathed it. I despised it. The idea of not knowing what kind of sentence I was to get for my crime of the week was like anguish for my soul.

But for some reason, I cannot wait to break out the second edition of the Punishment Jar for my kids one day.

Life List, pt 1.

1. Get another tattoo
2. Take more pictures
3. Run 5K
4. Be debt free
5. Identify 100 things that make me happy (aside from money)
6. Own an Old English Sheep dog
7. Stop worrying about the things I cannot change
8. Write a book and get it published
9. Graduate from college with my bachelor's degree
   
10. Get my masters
11. Get my doctorate
12. Take cooking classes
13. Make a difference in someone's life
14. Road trip across the USA
15. Forgive and forget
16. Create something beautiful
17. Travel to Spain
18. Live on the West Coast
19. Be a vegetarian for a year
20. Read 100 books in a year
21. Get a subscription to the New Yorker
22. Make my own clothing
23. Become a great wife
    
24. Find a hobby
25. Swim in the Ocean(s)
26. Read (and understand!) the seminars of Lacan
27. Feel beautiful every day
28. Be as great of a mother as mine is

Intertwined

Call me a sinner.
Call me non-traditional.
Call me what you want to.
But, every night I come home to find a beautiful bearded man in our living room. With his car next to mine, his socks tangled up in my jeans in the dryer, his honey roasted peanut butter next to my sunflower butter in the pantry, and his blue tooth brush next to my purple one joined by remnants of Crest Whitening toothpaste between the bristles.

My heart swells at the thought of this being forever.

My records alphabetized with his on the shelf below our record player and my hand crocheted blanket layered between his cotton sheets and worn down comforter remind me how hard it would be to separate his things from mine, such intertwined lives held together by three simple words.

If I'm a sinner, living together before marriage may just be the best sin I have ever committed if it it makes me feel like this every day.

Cinnamon Rolls: A learning experience.

Ninety Minute Cinnamon Rolls

• 3/4 cup milk (Check, pink label milk in the fridge)
• 1/4 cup margarine, softened ("I can't believe it's not butter" in a tub will do, right?)
  
• 3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (I suppose it's all purpose, I mean I use it for anything that calls for flour...)
  
• 1 (.25 ounce) package instant yeast (Why can't I just buy one package at the store? Why do I get 3?)
  
• 1/4 cup white sugar (Why does it have to be white? )
  
• 1/2 teaspoon salt (Sure, why not.)
  
• 1/4 cup water (Good thing I paid the water bill this morning.)
  
• 1 egg (Small, medium, large, or extra large? Normal or free range? Brown or white? BE MORE SPECIFIC!)
  
• 1 cup brown sugar, packed (Yes! I knew we weren't discriminating!)
  
• 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon (Do I have to grind it myself or do they sell it like that)
  
• 1/2 cup margarine, softened (Didn't I already check margarine off my list?)
  
• 1/2 cup raisins (optional) (Yeah, definitely not opting for this one.)

• Heat the milk in a small saucepan until it bubbles, then remove from heat. Mix in margarine; stir until melted. Let cool until lukewarm. (Isn't warm milk spoiled milk? How much of the margarine am I stirring in? All of it? What temperature is lukewarm, exactly? Who's Luke and what does he have to do with the temperature of my milk and margarine mixture?)

• In a large mixing bowl, combine 2 1/4 cup flour, yeast, sugar and salt; mix well. Add water, egg and the milk mixture; beat well. Add the remaining flour, 1/2 cup at a time, stirring well after each addition. When the dough has just pulled together, turn it out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth, about 5 minutes. (Well, I just killed my mixer trying to "beat" the mixture "well". It started smoking, I'm sure that's not a good sign to have 15 minutes into this project. What motions does kneading entail? Are my hands supposed to hurt? I didn't ask for manual labor, I just want to make some damn breakfast deliciousnesses.)
  

• Cover the dough with a damp cloth and let rest for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, mix together brown sugar, cinnamon, softened margarine. (Do I get to rest too? After that kneading I think I'm going to need a damp cloth and some rest. More margarine??? Didn't I use all of it earlier? Good lord, I'm failing miserably.)
  

• Roll out dough into a 12x9 inch rectangle. Spread dough with margarine/sugar mixture. Sprinkle with raisins if desired. Roll up dough and pinch seam to seal. Cut into 12 equal size rolls and place cut side up in 12 lightly greased muffin cups. Cover and let rise until doubled, about 30 minutes. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). (Now seriously, do I need a ruler for this portion? Like, do the measurements of the dough rectangle need be exact? There seems to be a lot of exact measurements required in this section. I don't do measurements, I wing it. Oh! American Idol just came on, I'm not sure I want to complete this project. This should be interesting.)
  

• Bake in the preheated oven for 20 minutes, or until browned. Serve warm. (Well, they're "browned" alright. I guess we can just pick off the black spots. C'est la vie.)

Sirens

I suppose being situated between a campus of heavy parties and the closest major hospitals that I should be used to the sounds that break through the clear, saran-wrap like stillness in my mind, but I'm not.

I still haven't been able to distinguish the yelps and screams of the sirens around this place. Was it the loud and long wails that signal an ambulance rushing down Rollins Ave to save a life or was that a police car, armed and ready with a glove box full of blank traffic citations?

Sires, for me, signify fear. Fear of violence. Fear of death. Fear of the unknown in general. Ever since I was a child I grew up around CB radios and/or nosy grandmothers. For Nana, the CB radio was a way to insure the sirens she often heard were not for someone in her family. For Grandma Mary Jo, working in medical records was her way to catch up on the towns latest gossip after the sirens ended.