Gutting it out.

This evening, on my way out the door to get some more ink for my printer and supplies for my final Journalism 102 project, I stopped to check my mail.

I'm a big fan of the proverbial "snail mail," especially when it's from a friend.  Otherwise, it's just filled with the prerequisite bills, junk mail and ads.  Along with tonight's wonderful buffet of bad ads came a letter for my ex from "Jared, the Galleria of Jewelry."  Oh yeah.  It stared me directly in the face.

Ok, for those of you who may be new or for those who know this but can't remember, my ex bought jewelry for the Bassett Hound Faced Bitch (his mistress) at Jared's.  Yeah, while I was begging for replacements for underwear with holes in them or maybe a new sweater so I wouldn't freeze my ass off in winter, my ex was paying top dollar for her to have an array of new jewelry.  From $250 necklaces, $300 for a ring and so forth, she was being given jewelry while I was having to beg for the most mundane of necessities.  New socks aren't too much to ask for, are they?  While I was being told no to getting new socks, she was wearing new jewelry provided by my ex without even a second thought to me.  Trust me, after I found the jewelry receipts I asked him point blank, "Did I even cross your mind as you were doing this?"  He replied with one word.  "No."

Before he left, I was suspicious when the ads from Jared's started arriving, but I figured those showed up because my ex was on some marketing list that Jared's bought so they could do some direct mail advertising.  No.  I find out later through a stack of receipts that he had been buying her quite the bit of jewelry.

After he left, the ads from Jared's just kept coming.  I yelled, I cried and I begged him to get those to stop showing up in my mailbox because every time I saw one, it was another slap in the mouth.  I told him to write, call or do SOMETHING to make it stop, but alas, he did nothing.  (And this is surprising, why?)

It's ok to hate him.  I do and it's just one amongst many horrible things that man did over ten years.  But, I've moved on, I've done great things and he's the last thing on my mind usually.  To be honest, a day spent where I don't think of him is a happy one.

But, looking in the mailbox tonight, what do I find?  Another ad "letter" from Jared's.  I stood at my mailbox looking at it, once more having the knife shoved into my gut and maliciously twisted.  It was at that point that I said out loud, "I've had enough of this shit."  Oh, let me tell you, I saw red.  I ranted, "I don't get screwed over any more, thank you very much, and I'll be damned if I allow some dickless wonder who ran off with a detestable tramp to shit on another single one of my days."  I had officially "had it." I decided right then and there it was high time I went on the offensive.

Being that I was on my way to Office Depot for some supplies and Jared's is in the same shopping center, I threw the mail into my passenger seat and hit the gas.  If that loathsome, lying, cheating, worthless son-of-a-bitch wasn't going to take care of it and put an end to it, I was.  I sat in my car, a million thoughts running through my head about how I'd feel walking into that store where that bastard had brought his little hussy to spend our rent money, what I was going to say, how I was going to say it and most of all, how I was going to put an end to the endless stream of gut-wrenching reminding I've taken about what my sad sack of crap ex has done to me.

At the corner nearing the store, some bonehead decided to cut me off.  Oh, that fella picked the WRONG night to mess with me.  I laid on my horn and went ballistic.  I've had enough of getting crapped on!

So, ad letter in hand, I parked the car in front of the store and walked up to the door I had dreaded passing every single day since I found out about the screwing I took.  I grabbed the handle, walked in and sat with my jaw open over the fact that my ex not once thought of me when walking through that same door.  I started to feel sick, but it was a defining moment, it was one of two choices, I either went back to my car and cried or I would gut it out and put a stop to it.

I gutted it out.  I walked into the store to be met by a nice young salesman named Andrew and politely asked for the manager.  The manager was busy, but since Andrew was the assistant manager, he'd have to do.  I put the letter on the counter and said, "Hi, I just got this out of my mailbox, but see, there's a problem."  He said, "It's not your address?"  I said, "No, it is my address and on the front of the letter IS my ex-husband's name.  The only problem is that he never bought me jewelry from your store.  He bought jewelry for his MISTRESS from your store.  While I was begging for new socks so I could throw out ones with holes, he was buying that woman jewelry from your store."  The young man's face went ashen.  "I said, that's right.  Every single time your ad comes to my house, it's a reminder of what that son of a gun did to me.  Now I know this isn't your fault, but I really would like it if you could do something to make it stop."  Andrew grabbed the ad letter off the counter and went straight to his computer.  He recited all of my ex's contact information and even his cellphone number.  My gut hit the floor.  I said, "Yes, that's him, but he's packed up and moved to Kentucky, so he won't be buying any more jewelry from you here.  Please, can you do something."  He said, "I've made sure that there is no more mail being sent to your address from us."  I thanked him and left.

I got into the car, shaken from what I had just done.  The tears were starting to come up, but it was then I realized something.  I put a stop to something that the ex had done.  I gutted it out and I came out on the other side.  I started the engine of the car, put it into reverse and sped away from the store, proud of myself that I confronted the problem and fixed it.

I then went over to Office Depot, got the stuff I needed and took myself to dinner.

I gutted it out and I'm proud of myself.  One more thing off the radar that I won't have to think about again.

But let me tell you, if another single piece of mail comes to my house from Jared, The Galleria of Jewelry, someone's going to get it shoved clean up their butt.

Today, Seether's "Rise Above This" seems appropriate.

I'm a Junior!

Today at school was a wonderful thing.  I went to my 102 lecture to get the study guide for my final exam, then I stopped by Prof H.'s office to ask a few more questions that I had forgotten about during class.  Prof H. is a class act.  He not only helped me but he gave me some crucial insight into what I needed to be thinking of as far as my final project goes.

Well, sufficed to say, I didn't get published this semester, much to my dismay, but it was my own fault.  I didn't step on it quick enough to make the semester's final edition of the Rebel Yell.  They'd already put it to bed, so I missed my chance.  Oh well.  Lots of opportunities to come I guess.  But, I did get to talk to the director of the campus radio station and I now have in my hot little hands an e-mail address for the student program manager. Now all I have to do is pitch what kind of show I want to do.  (I'm keeping it a secret for now, so don't ask.)

Then it was off to the journalism school's academic advising office.  Up to now, I didn't know how many credits I needed to become a junior.  Well, the magic number is 60 and your favorite Sophomore is now at 66.  Yep, I'm a junior!  Exciting, huh?  Along with getting my junior status, I also got to get my waiver signed to get into, get this, Journalism 261 and 475.  261 is Introduction to Integrated Marketing Communications and 475 is Ad Copywriting!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!  I'm SO excited for spring!  I've got two to-die-for classes!  The other two for spring are a social science class called "Personal Growth," and just imagine the blog posts that are going to come from THAT class...and a history class to fulfill my undergrad requirement.  In total this spring, 13 credit hours.  My lucky number.

So, on the way home, listening to the Nickelback song, "Far Away," to which I usually think about KP when I hear it, I actually thought about it this time in terms of self-love.  (Sorry KP, no disrespect intended.)  Now what is so poignant about this moment is that simply, I missed myself for a long time.  We all remember the days of me not knowing which end was up, constantly worried about what other people said and thought of me. Well, as I was driving, I realized something.  Who gives a damn what anyone else thinks?  This is MY life.  Not anyone else's.  This is my life where I sleep alone, I eat most meals alone, I play my video game with my fantastic guildies for social time and to get down to the nitty-gritty, outside of a 90K a year job, I don't want for much.   This goes back to the summer where I had written about how much I needed to engage my life and not just sit and watch as it passed by.  I've written so many times about "picking yourself up by the bootstraps and keep on walking," but until today, I really didn't grasp WHY we do things like that.

Survival skills are second nature to me.  I know how to survive, but I don't really know how to live.  It was in the car this afternoon that I realized the reason I didn't know how live was because I have always stupidly concerned myself with the acceptance and approval of others, only to be met with disappointment, anger and frustration.  Ok, let's go brass tacks.  I have spent my life, up to now, being the square peg trying to fit myself into a round hole because all of the other pegs in the box around me were round and I was giving in to the notion of actually "fitting in," when in truth, there are tons of square pegs out there.  It was when I thought of another axiom, "The cream always rises to the top," that I finally figured it out.  I'm the cream that's still swimming lower down in the milk jug, I'm just now starting to rise to the top, that's why I haven't really found any friends here in town to spend time with.  Another axiom, "Everything always finds its' own level" came to mind as well.   But one overall thought hit me, "I'm not done yet."  Truth told, not by a long shot.  It was then I realized that there is nothing wrong with me, I know who I am, I just haven't found my place in the sun yet.

Jeez, you know, you'd think by 39 I'd have this figured out already.  I'm a late bloomer.  That's got to be it.

But there's something else I thought of too, it doesn't matter if we're 19 or 99, we're always learning, we're always growing and it's all a part of the human experience.

For those of you who are curious, the name of the blog is NOT changing.  It's a branding thing.  Besides, even though I'm a junior now, I'll always be a wise fool, that's why it's called The Eternal Sophomore.

And this one is for me:  Nickelback's "Far Away."  Finally feeling my feet digging into the dirt and gaining traction feels good, I missed me.  I was far away from this point in my life for far too long.

Trees, Lights and family traditions.

I just got a call.  It was Nan telling me that we're doing Mom's Christmas Tree tomorrow.  I'm due at Mom's at noon because as is tradition, I've been handed the job of doing the lights on the tree.

For my immediate family, our tree always got decorated on Thanksgiving day, after all the food and dishes had been put away, we'd start right to work on our tree because we'd have a few weeks to enjoy it until our pilgrimage down to my grandparents house for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  But, the job of decorating the tree has never been taken lightly, so to produce a high-quality tree, the job is always handed down to a young person to handle the job and give the folks who had done it in the past a rest.

Now, let's set the way back clock for about 40 years ago. Mom somehow inherited the huge job of decorating  the Christmas tree at my grandparents house from Aunt Sissy.  Who Aunt Sissy inherited the job from, I'll never know.  One day Mom just stepped up to the task and when Aunt Sissy walked in and saw Mom decorating the tree, she said, "Thank goodness, someone's taken the job," and Mom became our family's chief tree decorator, a job that lasted until I was 11, when my grandfather moved from the house on Pate Lane (yes, my family had a road named after it, besides, it was the only house on the road) to his new house in town.

As I remember, there was always a morning where my grandfather would go out with a couple of other family members and cut down the tree himself.  Yep, that's right, it was a live, sap-filled cedar tree that sat in the great room of my grandparents house, and there Mom stood in front of it with strings of lights (and remember this was a while back, so the lights weren't the high-tech fancy ones we have today).  Now, in her job as tree decorator, the biggest hurdle of all time was the daunting task of putting the lights on a 7-foot tall cedar tree that fit in the room with only an 8-foot-tall ceiling.  Thinking back, I have no earthly idea how Mom got the lights in the top of the tree, but I'm guessing there was either a ladder or a tall chair involved, but nonetheless, those lights got up there and oh, she always did such an amazing job with the difficult lights she had to deal with.  I really never saw her decorate the tree because us little folks were always kept out of the "big room" during the holidays before Christmas morning.  We'd go and peek in there, but it kind of went without saying that you didn't go in there, besides all of the action at my grandparents was always in the kitchen, so it kept us distracted over what was going on in the "Christmas Room."

But looking back, I can remember Daddy and one of my uncles always struggling to get that tree in the door, but I can only imagine Mom standing on a chair reaching up into the tree putting the lights on, getting her hands covered in sap and humming a Christmas carol or two while she was working.

I also remember the decorations she had to work with.  Oh lordy, you want to talk ewww?  Yeah, she had to deal with those cloth ornaments that were basically a Styrofoam ball covered in a weird sort of synthetic, plastic-y string on them that if they snagged on anything, from the tree to a calloused finger, it would pull apart.  When I think about them, my skin kind of crawls, but much less to say, Mom made it work and she made it work beautifully.  There were a few glass balls that she'd put on the tree, but mostly a lot of the ornaments were either those Styrofoam balls from hell or they were ones that us littleun's made for our grandparents.  

After all the decorations would go on, then came the garlands and the icicles, those little pieces of stringy tinsel that you place on the branches.  Yep, there was a lot of stuff that went on that tree.  As I recall, the trees themselves weren't ever that great, but when Mom got done decorating it, it might as well have been the tree in New York's Rockefeller Center.  It just turned out that good. 

Another family tradition was "The Candy Box."  This neat little invention came by way of my Aunt Sissy as well.  See, Uncle Bill owned a pharmacy so they'd save up pill bottle boxes and they'd become our candy boxes.  You want to talk having your eyes bulge out of your sockets?  Try this one...

The candy box structure was rather unique.  If you would cross-section the foot tall by about a foot-and-a-half wide box, it would look like this:

1. Unwrapped goodies, such as small toys, Barbie clothes, or a coloring book or crayons.
2. Fruit, consisting of a couple of apples, oranges and a banana or two (no doubt this was Mom's doing).
3. Candy.  Lots of candy.  Individually wrapped peppermints, butterscotch, mini-Snickers, mini-Almond Joy, mini-Mounds, rolls of Lifesavers, individually wrapped Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Hershey's kisses, mini-Hershey's Chocolate bars...Gods, there was so much in there, I can't even remember it all...but think about it this way, if there was an individually wrapped type of candy, it was in there.  SO much candy it makes my teeth hurt just thinking about it.
4. Nuts 
5. and a small piece of aluminum foil at the bottom.

Now if you imagine it in just the way my little list is written out, you'll get a really good idea what those candy boxes were like.  Seriously, that numbered list and how the item about the candy is written out, no joke, that's how much candy was in that box.

I mean these things were HUGE!  Imagine a 6-year-old, 50 pound Sheri walking in to see that on Christmas morning.  As a child I remember my eyes bulging out of their sockets when I saw that.  A couple of times I even found stuffed animals on top of my candy box.

Now, how the candy boxes were constructed, I have no idea.  All I remember is my mother taking me out to the mobile home (that Uncle David had brought out to my grandparents house to put us up for the week), and putting me to bed around 8 p.m.  This is apparently when the "elves" being my parents plus the rest of Dad's family would get together and do the boxes.

Ok, now's the time to explain to you how big my family is.  In my family you have to talk in Star Trek's "Borg" designations.  Remember Seven of Nine?  If you do, you're with the program.

Dad is Fourth of Five.  That's right, he's got three older sisters and one younger brother.  Putting us all together, including my grandparents, it totaled 22 people in one house.  Go ahead, give the "Oh Sh*t" that inevitably comes with me telling people how large my family is. I have nine cousins.  NINE.  So imagine my grandmother's long kitchen table covered in boxes, foil, bags upon bags of candy, fruit and nuts.  I remember my parents coming in long past midnight after they had finished visiting and laughing putting together the boxes.  After the boxes were finished, everyone went home, only to return the next morning at 7 a.m. 

Christmas morning was always amazing.  It was when we'd be treated to breakfast made by my grandfather and my Aunts.  Aunt Bonnie's AWESOME scrambled eggs, my grandfather's special orange juice that was always SO amazing, sausage, bacon, toast, sweet rolls, anything we wanted, and it was laid out in this huge spread.  We ate our fill and if we finished before everyone else, we were watched closely because NO ONE got into the big room filled with Christmas presents until it was time.  The adults literally assigned a door monitor for the room.  If we little people got too close to the door, we were immediately herded back in with everyone else in the kitchen.  There was no such thing as peeking.  You didn't have a chance to peek because when you were a little person, you were tasked with working the room and saying good morning to all of your aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents.

22 people under one roof for Christmas...phew! To me, that's a lot.  After we'd all had breakfast and the dishes were washed, we'd be lined up for the big moment, the opening of the big room for presents.

The tree my mother so carefully decorated sure did get a workout because beneath it's branches was modern-day consumerism gone wild.  There were presents extending from the base of the tree to easily four to five feet in front of it.  Wrapping paper of every color and description covered boxes from tiny to huge.  So many presents it was a wonder all of us fit into the room as well.

The big room on Christmas morning was divided by family.  My sister and I, along with my parents were nearest the door.  Then around the room went my Aunt Bonnie and Uncle David with their sons, Aunt Ray and Uncle Chester with their son and daughter, then Aunt Betty and Uncle Lonnie with their three if they were in town for Christmas, then came Aunt Sissy and Uncle Bill with their son, then ultimately my grandparents.

The first thing we always saw were our candy boxes.  With our name written on them, we could find our basic seating assignment and we all flopped down in front of our "loot section." Wrapping paper flew off of presents, loot was held up for display and inspection, and it was a good solid two to three hours we went through everything.  At this point, just describing it, I can only imagine how exhausted all of the adults were.  After looting and pillaging, we were sent to the showers to get pressed and dressed for Christmas Dinner.

Now imagine all of my aunts and my Mom in the kitchen on Christmas Day.  For my family, there was no such thing as "eating out" on Christmas, that just wasn't done, so you had my grandmother (when she could still walk) along with my four aunts, Mom, my cousins Anne and Ginger, and Nan all helping out.  My grandmother's kitchen was the size of my current apartment's living room and kitchen.  Still, with all those people in it, I just remember it being very cramped and every piece of counter space was at a premium.  So that meant little people like my cousin Mark and I were basically banished or told to keep from under foot while they made dinner. 

When dinner was finally served, it was a spread unlike anything I've seen before or since.  As we've gone over, there were 22 people in the house, so the "Big 12" consisting of the parents and our grandparents were at the "Big Table" in the dining room and the children all sat in the kitchen.  My cousins Sam and Mike were the eldest so they kind of acted as our ranch hands keeping all of us in check and behaving so the adults could eat in peace.

If you can imagine the holiday food, it was on those tables.  Turkey, ham, stuffing, giblet gravy, regular gravy, sweet potatoes, green rice, green beans, baked beans, oh holy lordy, if I try to describe it all, we'll be here until next week, but sufficed to say, there was SO MUCH FOOD.  After our mom's would come in, help us help our plates, the entire house became the sounds of chewing and conversation.  Down at the end of the kitchen table would be Ginger, Nan, Drew, Mark and I.  Being the two youngest in our massive brood, Mark and I were a pair of Christmas Day clowns.  We sat there stuffing our faces and inevitably, someone would have helped our plate to some black olives.  Mark and I sat at the end of the table cackling our heads off with black olives stuffed onto the tips of our fingers.  We'd be laughing, playing "See Food" and sitting there eating the olives off of our fingers.  I remember all of the bigger kids rolling their eyes and laughing at us, but we'd always have a hoot of a time.

And it all goes back to the one simple act...Mom up on a chair or ladder putting lights up on the Christmas tree.

Now, it's my job to do the lights and effectively kick off the Christmas season.  Truth be told, I'm now my family's official tree decorator.  I just hope I can hold up the tradition to it's fullest.  A beautiful tree decorated at the beginning of the holidays really does set up for the following three weeks of holiday cheer.

So for all of you decorating your trees, remember, every poke, sap covered finger and broken ornament has a reason for doing just as it did, it's there to make a memory, ones that will last a lifetime.

What I'm Thankful For.

It's that time of year where we all get together with family and/or loved ones and remember what we're thankful for.  It's been a rough year to say the least since last Thanksgiving, with some great moments mixed in so I can say that it really wasn't so bad.

The first thing I'm thankful for is my family, real and virtual.  I'm surrounded with amazing people that without their influence, I'd be in rougher shape than I am now.  So I'm grateful for them.

I'm grateful for KP.  The man is just that amazing.  He's one of my best pals and between him and Chance, they're my pair of saviors.  As the line in Eat, Pray, Love goes, "You don't need a protector, you need a champion," and KP and Chance are my champions. (That's why they're honored with being on my recurring characters list.) Without those two, my daily life would be drab and boring.  However, I can't speak highly enough of KP.  Two years and he's still front and center taking care of me in unexpected ways.

I'm grateful for Chance.  Outside of being my little brother, he's my pal who's always keeping me on the straight and narrow, and who also seems to have an unending supply of duct tape to tape up my ever-broken heart.

I'm grateful for my sweet, kind-hearted Guild Master Jim.  He always says that I place him and a few others way too high up on pedestals, but I disagree.  Jim's my favorite brother because he keeps me in focus and reminds me when I get out of whack that I shouldn't take things so very seriously.  He's died countless times in WoW so that I could learn and he's always been super supportive and patient.  He's been a nurturing influence that I don't think I'd be doing so well without his influence.  Jim always seems to throw out the big, fluffy pillow for me to land on when I trip and fall on my face.  Thanks Jim.

I'm grateful for my "tenderheart in a tough-guy suit" raid leader Jason.  He taught me that you can't make chicken salad out of chicken sh*t and that sometimes you have to be tough to help everyone get where they want to go.

I'm grateful for my pal Chris, the world's tallest gnome warlock.  He always checks on me and he's always watching out for me.  Soulstones aside, he's always an uplifting influence and he always makes me smile because I know he cares.

I'm grateful for Raj.  He's always been so supportive, kind, sweet and is always ready to give me some sort of positive wisdom.  Raj has the perfect name, he's a real prince.

I'm grateful for my team of healers, Ed, Les, Paul, Sonya, Colt, and Sean who have unwaveringly supported me while I learned how to do healing assignments.

I'm grateful for Heidi, Isaiah, Lola and Lucy who are such a beautiful family.  They are an every day source of hope and joy.

I'm grateful for Dave who always reminds me to follow my heart.

I'm grateful for Jeff, April and little Conrad, Steph, Steve and little Seth along with all of my sweet guild-born nephews and nieces.  I'm always grateful when I see pictures of the beautiful children who I unknowingly went through their gestation with them...I love my guild babies!

I'm grateful for Dana (Auntie Mystdee), Trisha (Auntie Kooky), Tae, Soosi, June, Susan (Neems), Suzanne (Auntie Essjay), Susan (Auntie SueSue), Doc, Daddy Stung, Mama Kitte,  KayKay and Mikey, Gail, Mej and her family, Busch, GentleFire, Laura, Soede, Ariel, Rhonda, Kate, Holly, Jeff, Jon, Anthony, Alhon, Al (Mr. Temple of Alhamnat), Narym, Dalken and even Moose.  Without them, I wouldn't have the wonderful family values that come from being a part of a world that is solely about spirit and the collective love you have for a special place in the world.  I'm especially grateful to all of them for supporting my artistic work, on the three dimensional model, on the air and on the page.

I'm grateful for my pal Natalee who has been nothing but supportive of my writing and who has always been there to help me say just the right thing.

I'm grateful for my pal Luibi who always makes sure I don't look like an old lady and who reminds me constantly that life isn't just all about video games, it's about the human experience.

I'm grateful for Kai, TJ and Drewbie, my three favorite young people in the world for putting up with me even when I tell them to stop fighting and I'm giving them the "Guilt Look of Doom."  I'm grateful that they always are so sweet and are all trying hard to be good.

I'm grateful for my real life aunts and uncles who show me every day that love with another person for a lifetime is possible.

I'm grateful for Ryan and Caitlynd, who are always putting up with me checking on them and who love me no matter what.

I'm grateful for Nan, she's shown me what strength looks like and that I'm not as screwed up as I thought I was.  She is always there for me to give me the big sis pep talk when I run into a huge pothole.  Most of all, I'm grateful that she's fighting the good fight against cancer and is winning (even if she may not feel like it sometimes).

I'm grateful for Mom and Dad.  They put me on this rock and they've tried so hard to guide me through this little adventure called "life."  My parents are really amazing people.

I'm grateful for Carl, he's a great real life big brother and I'm grateful every day he takes care of Nan so well and makes her happy.

I'm grateful for Sara, Yvette, David and Martie who made me realize this year I did have some good moments in childhood.

I'm grateful for Carol, Gene, Buddy and Diana for giving me the gift of stories at a very young age.

I'm grateful to have had such an extraordinary grandmother who's legacy was making me into a storyteller.  Through her influence over my entire family, she keeps teaching me even though she isn't here to see it firsthand.

I'm grateful for Doc T, Doc L, Doc Fish and Prof H, my fave profs at school who support my efforts to keep writing and aspiring to great things.

I'm grateful for Becky and Mirna, my two fave classmates who have helped me keep a young viewpoint and stay in touch with my inner 18-year-old.

I'm grateful for Winnie who is patient with me while I'm learning to be a chinese pretzel.

I'm grateful for all of the people in my life and for all of the experiences I've stubbed my toe on, scorched myself with, but ultimately learned from.

But I'm grateful for the roof over my head, the computer I work at and all of the little things I have every day that make life easier and allow me to have a grand adventure.

I'm grateful for the big blue sky I can look up at and realize I'm not alone.  I'm grateful for what I have and I'm not in a hurry to forget all of the wonderful gifts that my life has given me.

Most of all, I'm grateful for all of you, my faithful readers who have always been here for me.  Y'all rock.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Turning another page.

In all the times I've sat here writing, I've always tried to glean some kind of wisdom through the experiences I've had.  Yesterday was no different.

I have to admit, I did cry a little.  Only because to have two men who held me at a crossroads both do identical things, well, it's like I always say, if you don't like the paths you're given, you cut your own.  I think that's smart.

Well, last night, I needed a movie to cheer me up.  After spending some quality time with a friend that I've neglected because of my own fears (thanks for being you KP).  I just needed a film to pick me up after he reminded me in his own way that every time something happens, it's up to me to build a bridge and get over it, and I'm the only one that's got the building tools in hand to build it then walk over it onto a better path.

So, thanks to iTunes, I finally got to see Eat, Pray, Love.  

Let's just say I was due.  Like I've said before, you can only hear the message life is trying to give you when you reach the point that you're ready to hear it.  I realized, watching the film, that life always starts over again, you can always turn the page and find a new adventure just by opening yourself up to the next great experience.

It's like that line from Myst IV, "It's as if a door inside me has closed despite all I've done to keep it open. But in a way, maybe that's good. [...] Endings are just another form of beginning, I guess, and the harder an end is to face, the more hope we bring with us to the next beginning."

You know, I could get cheated on 50 times, but it still doesn't diminish the hope that resides inside me and the fact that I've got a lot of great things inside that is just waiting for the right person to see.  Building the bridge isn't easy though because it's built on a lot of revisiting all of the things that have gone wrong and how we've coped with them along the way.  Each time something goes bad, it becomes a nail or a board in the bridge that you labor with all your heart to build, then walk over it to move on.

But, onto my experience watching Eat, Pray, Love.

I was curled up in my chair in front of the computer and right at the point where Julia Robert's character of Liz is arguing with the Italian landlady about the amount of water in the tub, when a fairly large spider decided it was going to run along the wall in front of me.  I quickly hit pause on iTunes, ran into my kitchen and grabbed my can of roach and spider killer.  You know me, I'm arachnophobic as all get out, hell, I'm arthropodophobic...if it's got a jointed body and jointed legs and has more than four legs, I'm up on the furniture screaming.  Well, last night, I would have been damned if some stupid insect was going to keep me from seeing a film I so desperately had wanted to see for so long.  So, losing track of the bugger, I sprayed a couple of walls and baseboards hoping it would do it, then curled back up in my chair, anxiously watching more of the walls for the spider than I was of the movie on the screen, but I was listening.

It wasn't until Julia made it to Bali when the spider reared it's head again, descending from the makeshift table made from a wooden stool next to my desk by a thin piece of web.  I squealed, ran around the coffee table, away from the spider to grab the can again and that son of a gun decided to take cover beneath my environmental studies book as if to say..."Look!  If you kill me you're hurting the environment."  I rolled my eyes and promptly grabbed one of my cherry red Doc Marten combat boots and sent him to the land of two dimensions.  No spiders in my house thank you very much.

It was at that point that I sat back down and resumed the film that Javier Bardem came in.  So, now up to this point, I had watched Julia's character go through the carb-fest in Italy, the ashram in India and now she's with a hottie in Bali.  Ok, I was down with this because there were so many parts along the way in the film that were just screaming out to me, "Hey! Pay attention!"  I can't even give examples because there were so many, I lost count because of the poignancy of each message.  I'm going to have to watch the film again and take notes because it was such an incredible journey the woman made, and it's no small wonder that Oprah picked the book the film was based on to be one of her book club selections.  I was reminded of so many of my friends that I love so much, those I've helped and most of all, those who have helped me.

But it also reminded me of one thing, I have a pal who's stuck with me through thick and thin, who's put up with my mountain of bull and my moments of neglecting everything around me but myself.  I owe him a lot.  He's been my ashram where I've gone to ponder the reasons for everything, he's been my medicine man and most of all, he's just been my shoulder to lean on.  I guess we all need people in our lives like that and to Kathy, Dana, Tae, Natalee, Tammy, Nan and the rest of you who took time to comfort me after yesterday's ordeal, I have to say thanks.  I'm so very lucky to have people like you with me on the journey.  We've seen a lot together.  So, it's just on to turning the page, it's on to grabbing up the hammer and placing another nail in the bridge that gets me over things.

However, you'll have to excuse me, I owe someone a handwritten letter.  He's a guy who reminds me so much of Javier Bardem's character because he tears up when he hugs his kids.

Have a great day everyone!  To reinforce my lesson of the day, I give you a song from Eat, Pray, Love, Eddie Vedder's song "Better Days."

As quickly as good things come along...

They go just as fast.

I'm now zero for two.  I have the world's worst batting average when it comes to men.

As it is Monday, it's my day for 102 and well, it was a short day, just a current events quiz (which I knew none of the answers to...Prof H., dude, you write some obscure questions man...).

After the quiz Prof. H. let us out of class early and wished us all Happy Thanksgiving.  Yay, a day out of class early, I'm all for that.

Well, on the way home, since I hadn't heard from Taz in a few days, I figured "Hey, why not, let's drive over to his house, maybe I'll catch him outside painting, I'll stay for just a minute, long enough to grace me with a smile then come home."

Yeah, I caught him alright.

I knew driving over there was a bad idea.  Something about it just didn't bode well, but I did it anyway, dismissing the all too familiar feeling that I was getting the short end of the stick.  You know, I should just stick with my gut instincts, they've never let me down once.

As I drove up to the house, I looked and saw that his garage door was open and the tail lights to his fancy little sports car were on.  I thought, "Hey!  Great timing!"  No, not so great timing.

Taz hopped out of the car, amazingly agile for someone who supposedly has a banged up knee, and waved at me as I sat in my car on the street. I looked at him and said, "Hi!  I just thought I'd stop by for a sec so you could grace me with a smile and I'll be on my way."

A feminine voice asked Taz, "Who's that?"  He then looked at me and said, "I'm busy."

Then with a very pained look on his face, he turned away, answering the woman in the car, "That was Sheri," then he pushed the button to close his garage door.

I knew it wasn't a great idea to go over there...but now I also know why there was a reason I did.  At least I know why the phone hasn't rang in the last week.

The funny thing is, I'm not even crying.  I'm just numb right now.  I'm not surprised, but at the same time, I can feel the tears stinging in the back of my eyes wanting to come out, but they're just going, "Nope."

As I sped away from Taz's in shock, I called Chance.  He's my backstop in times like this and he only said one thing...

"At least you won't be sitting next to a hospital bed when we're all leveling in Cataclysm."

Yep.  Chance has it right, there's always a bright side.

So, as the garage door closed, so did the chapter on Taz and my adventures in dating for the time being.  Much less to say, I deleted his number out of my phone, and if he dares to call, I'm just not answering.   It would take a really big show of something for me to even look in his direction again and he'd have to work his ass off seriously to even begin to see an ounce of clemency.  I'll give him one point though, at least he didn't get too involved with me again.  I just wish he would have been more up front with what he was doing.

Zero for two!  Damn!

Just when I thought things were finally headed in the right direction...BOOM.  Another pothole.  Now I really do feel like he's Mr. Big from Sex and the City.  He's just that one guy who things just can't quite seem to work out with.

So, if you'll excuse me, I've got the spring semester to plan for, a test in Environmental Studies to take and somehow I've got to find a way to dry off after ANOTHER scorching hot cup of coffee has been dumped in my lap.  It hurts, but it's nothing I can't recover from.

Alice

Everyone who knows me knows about my fascination with Lewis Carroll and his stories about Alice in Wonderland.  I love the fact that he takes the world and turns it on it's head, comes up with nonsense names for nonsense creatures, and how much he inspires me to just let go and enjoy a trip down the rabbit hole.

As a kid, I loved the Disney animated movie of Alice.  She was lost in the woods and being confused by all of the nonsense in her head.  The Cheshire Cat, who proudly sits as a stuffed version on my hope chest, smiles at me with his knowing grin.  I remember one morning when I was 18, I woke up nose to nose with the Cheshire Cat and I had a close-up view of those big yellow eyes.  Much less to say, I woke up a bit freaked out opening my eyes to that, but it made me laugh after I woke up enough to realize what I was looking at.  Somehow, he seems so wise, just sitting and grinning the days away.

Another part I love about the animated version of Alice is the Momeraths.  Now anyone in my life worth their salt knows about me and my beloved momeraths.  I'll never forget the first time I saw them...Alice was in Tulgey Wood lost because a broom headed and tailed dog had swept the path from in front and behind her.  She sat crying on a bench singing, "I Give Myself Very Good Advice," but after she dried her tears, she saw this:

Don't step on the momeraths.  Did you see what they did?  They hopped out of the ground and led Alice back onto the path.  After that, it took me a while but I realized I was one of those little guys, helping people get back onto the path again.  I need to make myself a shirt that says, "I'm a Momerath."  I just love those little guys and they inspired me to draw one.

Yep, and it's my logo for when I work as a graphic artist.  I've got so many freehand drawings of these little cuties, from surfer 'raths, teen 'raths and femme 'raths on down.  I've drawn so many unique 'raths that I find they're what I doodle when my hands are bored.  I give each one character and movement and I love them all, because one day they just might team up and put ME back on the path.

Tonight, I was kind of late getting into WoW because, believe it or not, I was actually watching the Tim Burton version of Alice.  It was the first time I saw it.  Problem is, I came in half way, so I've still not seen the whole thing.  So I'm waiting until Tuesday to take it in in its' entirety.  But, I have to say my heart was stolen seeing the white queen's army being chess pieces versus the queen of hearts having her army of cards.

To hear the voice of Christopher Lee come out of the Jabberwock put my jaw on the ground, with Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter and Alan Rickman's voice coming out of the caterpillar, it just blew me away.  I was so tickled when I saw Tweedle's Dee and Dum along with the Bandersnatch and rest of the characters I adore so much.  Crispin Glover (ooh is he a weird one) playing the Knave with his gangly body was trippy to say the least.  But there they all were, beautiful, odd and funny, each not making a lick of sense in the nonsensical world that I love about Alice.

When I finally got into WoW, I made my apologies for being late by saying, "Sorry, got caught up by a deck of cards, some chess pieces and a bandersnatch."  Watching Rel run in front of me in her sometimes nonsensical fantasy world really did make me feel like I had tumbled down the rabbit hole.  How I do love the world that Lewis Carroll created in my head... 

So, while I was raiding, I took some time to grab a tune to enjoy that seems to fit me to a "T."  So while I sat working on the Heroic Lich King fight in 10-man, I got to enjoy some Avril Lavigne...

Here, have a listen...

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

Big smile all, just like the Cheshire Cat...it's a big world...and though it may be filled with nonsense at times...

It's up to all of us to find the path, get on it and live.