That One Time the Cleveland Airport was the Literal Worst

The above quote is NOT NORMALLY TRUE for me - normally I love flying - but this story is the massive exception to the rule.

Hello friends and fine folks all around the world (jk, most of you are totally in Utah and the other three of you are in Ohio and are all incredibly nice people. But welcome regardless, of wherever you are currently or where you might be from! Truly, I'm glad you're here).

Normally I would not be writing a blog post right now. Normally I would be at work, enjoying immensely the simple pleasures all human adults crave of taking staples out of things, putting the papers through the scanner, putting the staples back in and then entering that information into an online database. Conversely, I might be fixing whether something is bold, in quotes, or in italics on software tutorials, which I think is an equally coveted position. Real talk - I am grateful for my job. I am I am I am I am but sometimes it sucks the soul out of me a little bit.

It's especially worse now, because ever since Trenton and I got back from our trip to Ohio to spend all the time with Trenton's family, days at work have felt really long and somewhat never ending (though each one has in fact ended, just so we're clear.) Now I fully intend to write a happy post about the Ohio trip. I had a beautiful time and my in-laws are amazing and Cedar Point is really just a great place to be. But I digress, for that is not the topic of today's post. No.

Rather, as I sit here home in bed, and not at work where I would actually prefer to be I chose to right about something else.


But first, you may be wondering to yourself, "why are you home in bed?" and if you are then here is the answer. Even if you weren't wondering that, you're about to read the answer anyway, unless you skip the next paragraph or just plain exit from this beautiful and fulfilling blog. That seems a little extreme, by the way.

Scene: the kitchen, this morning, eating cereal
Me: It is super hot in here
Trenton: Huh?
Me: Aren't you super hot?!
Trenton: Not really..
Me: It's not hot?
Trenton: Nope
Me: I feel like I'm about to start sweating, that's how hot I feel
Trenton: Your forehead does feel a little warm
Me: *realizes it is myself and not the apartment which is overheated*

So, because I have rehearsals from 8-5 all next week (which I'm actually really really excited for!!! :) Yay dancing!!) Trenton thought it may be best to lay down, drink lots of water, and get better faster than post haste. For those of you who didn't want to know why I was at home in bed, the explanation is now over and I hope that wasn't too painful.

What I'd like to tell you fine folks today is about why the Cleveland airport is not a happy place, and why you should not go there if at all possible.

Warning: This is a true story, and while not explicit, graphic, or containing adult themes or imagery, it is upsetting, at least it was to me.

Once upon a time, Trenton and I went on a beautiful trip to Ohio to be happy and smile everyday, which is precisely what we did. However, when it was time for us to go we had to not only face the disappointment of the reality that our vacation was over and school would be starting very soon, but also endure the most painful airport experience of either of our lives.

Our flight left at 7:40 from the Cleveland airport, so we got there around 5:30. This means we had to get up to be driven to the airport at 4:30, which combined with the fact that due to packing (and then me needing to vent things I was anxious about to Trenton and him being the nicest person in the world and listening even though he was dead tired) we didn't go to bed until about 1:30 meant we were super duper tired.

As we pulled up to the airport I immediately felt a grand sense of, "hmm. This is not going to be fun". Not that airports are usually like Disneyland for me, but this, I could tell, would be especially non the happiest place on earth. The airport was under construction and people were lining up outside of the building. No terminals were labeled - there's just the one in this international airport which flies over 10 airlines. So we basically got out of the car and hoped for the best.

Spoiler: The best is not what we received. Despite the hope.

We entered the airport where it said "other airlines" meaning anything that wasn't Delta or Southwest. Secretly they all opened into the exact same place. We had a checked bag which we needed to go check, so we needed to head down to the far right side of the airport. Unfortunately, the line for security was looped twice along the full length of the airport. So we snaked our way down and through people, doing our utmost not to get separated, and marveling at the sheer number of people crammed into such a tiny space. I cannot properly convey to you via blog how ridiculous this line situation was. If I was telling this story in person I would go get a piece of paper and a pencil and draw you a diagram. I often do this when telling stories to my mom, and she loves it (i.e. she thinks its super weird because she doesn't need exactly all those details but she loves me anyway).

So we fight through this line to the area for U.S. Airways, which is literally the furthest away, crammed in the back corner of the building.

Oh. And I haven't mentioned yet that also this was the weekend of the Republican national convention so this airport wasn't just normal crowded, it was convention crowded. I am talking about a claustrophobic's nightmare (I won't say worst nightmare cause I haven't actually experienced their dreams).

After getting our luggage taken care of we had no idea where to actually go to get into the security line. We had waited in part of the security line for quite some time earlier on, because we didn't realize that it was in fact the security line - that ALL the lines were the one and only security line. There was a sir walking around with a big red sign that said "END OF LINE" but the more I think about it, the less I think this guy was actually an airport employee and the more convinced I was that he was just there to troll everyone and make the already frustrated wannabe passengers even more incensed. Because the dude was literally just walking around. There was no clear end of the line, friends. There was a loop. A really long circle. And all around us people were swearing and saying that they'd already looped the entire airport THREE TIMES and were no closer to actually getting through the security line. Airport employees were doing their best for the most part, but some were just telling people to go to the back of the line - including people who had already been in line for over an hour.

Add to this the fact that we have elderly people in wheelchairs and parents with small children, and people cutting through to try and check  bags and we have an incredibly disordered system where everyone is mad at everything and everybody is suspicious and aggressive about not being cut in line. Now please, people, before you think I'm making this sound worse than it was, know that I'm not. This is all taking place in a four foot wide walkway, three lanes of people making up a single line and those trying to find where they actually get in line.

As Trenton and I are fighting our way towards what we think is the right direction an airport employee comes through pushing a woman in a wheelchair and asks that we all just hold on and wait for him to get through. As soon as he does, all semblance of a line disappears. Everybody just pushed forward, creating a lovely bottleneck effect near the front doors of the airport. There was no line anymore, friends. I looked to Trenton and remarked, as we were pushed along with everyone else in the non-line that this was undoubtedly against fire code. That's when I realized there were actually Cleveland city firefighters standing around the airport, just waiting, it seemed, for something to go horribly wrong. Not long after we started spotting Cleveland police officers. The airport knew they had the formula for a riot on their hands. It was bad. Somehow, in this no line moment where everyone cut in front of everyone else inadvertently, because remember, the line had disappeared, we started forming a new line and Trenton and I were pretty close to the front of it.

We eventually got through the laxest security check of my life ("shoes on, belts on, jackets on, laptops in bags, go go go!") and arrived at our gate. At one point Trenton went to find a water fountain to wash down a fine breakfast of nutrigrain bar (to no avail, might I add. no drinking fountains in all of the A gate section) and he overheard people talking about a fight that had broken out. Yep. Shoving and yelling and who knows what else, but I can't say I'm the least bit surprised.

If you want to just be mad at Cleveland airport and agree with me that this experience was ridiculous because they had to delay all flights by 30 minutes because no one was getting through and even then plenty of people still were in security lines rather than at their gates, then stop here. This is the end where we stop talking about the Cleveland airport because we boarded our flight.

However if you want to hate U.S. Airways, keep reading.

Disclaimer: If you or a family member works for U.S. Airways I don't mean for this to offend you. I'm sure many employees are nice and do a better job than those who were on the plane with us that day. I don't hate all U.S. Airways people, but I sure hated this experience.

We boarded the plane. Zone 5. Last. Losers that we are. As we waited for Zone 5 to be called, the employee at the gate made it clear exactly who U.S. Airways welcomed.

"U.S. Airways would like to welcome our first class passengers today as well as our elite members and our (something something) card holders. We are so pleased to have you flying with us today, and enjoy your flight!)

this contrasted with, "Boarding zone 5."

We made our way down the little gray hallway to the plane. We had just stepped on board when a flight attendant stopped the old woman who seemed a little shaky on her feet in front of us and said, "wait right there ma'am". Then she carried out the extremely important task of taking juice to someone in first class. Whatever flight attendant. Stop me and Trenton. We are able bodied, youthful souls, but let the sweet old lady find her seat and sit down.

So we sat down, passing all four rows of first class passengers, and sitting among the 16+ rows of coach passengers. Let's also keep in mind that there are six seats per coach row and only four per first class. We've got 16 total first class passengers on this plane, at max. Just reminding y'all that indeed, most of the airline's money for flights is coming from COACH.

We get ourselves in our seats and are waiting for takeoff and I just felt so ill. I often feel sick in the mornings anyway, and the complete lack of sleep wasn't helping. All I wanted to do was go to sleep, but the airplane was freezing. I complained about being super cold to Trenton, goosebumps all over me. Trenton is a kind and caring husband. As the head flight attendant on the plane passed (I would love to tell you her name cause I looked for her name tag and she didn't have one) Trenton made sure she wasn't busy (she wasn't, she was just casually strolling to the back of the plane, looking left and right at us passengers. Us filthy, slimy coach passengers.) then Trenton said, "Excuse me, is there anyway we could get a blanket?"

Now we weren't asking for a duvet or some 800-thread count egyptian cotton sheets. Just an airplane blanket.

The flight attendant fixes Trenton with a look like how can you be such a moron idiot which is never a way that anyone should look at Trenton, and she sneers (truly, sneers, like she's surprised such low life forms can even speak) "We don't have them for people in the back". She said back like it was a dirty word. And then without another look or an "I'm sorry" or waiting for us to response she whisks away.

I understand if that's the policy. I mean whatever, if they don't have blankets for everyone on the plane then ok fine sure. But say "I'm sorry, we don't have any available." or "I'm afraid we can't get you a blanket". But go ahead, U.S. Airways, let people treat your paying customers like pond scum because believe you me, I have told this story many a time since arriving home less than a week ago, and it's just really appalling to everyone who hears it.

Let me add that Trenton and I never even received a cup of water on this flight. Certainly not any peanuts, pretzels, or biscoff cookies. That's just crazy talk.

The flight attendants passed with the cart once while I was asleep and didn't offer Trenton anything, and then they passed one more time on our 4 hour flight, said, "drinks." and passed without waiting for an answer or looking at us at all. It was a charming experience.

So by the time we'd landed in Arizona, we had been awake for over seven hours with one nutrigrain bar each (Trenton actually had 2) and no other food or any drink.

It was a nice "You ain't on vacation anymore!!" slap in the face.

But now all is well. Even though I'm home in bed, I have water, I have plenty of blankets on hand, I have a fan because actually the problem right now is that I'm hot, and I have written an extremely whiny blog post.

Sorry about it. I promise the next one will be happier.

Things I'm Good At v. Things I'm Not

Things I'm Good At #1: Writing
Or at least so the over 530,000 views of my online writing would leave me to believe (and yes I literally just checked and added up views with my little phone calculator, so this isn't just some silly guess). Plus I always got good grades in writing, my novel could potentially be ready to be sent to an agent by September, and sometimes when I don't update this blog people get a little upset with me and ask me to please write it again.

Things I'm not good at #1: Remembering to Write
I love to write. I really do. But I get home from working all day or home from school and what I want to do, unfortunately, is not pull out my laptop and write. Heaven KNOWS I don't feel super compelled to pull out my laptop and edit, which is the stage I'm really at now. Nope. It involves a lot more tv and ice cream than making words appear. Less fulfilling, but a heck of a lot easier.

TIGA #2: (I like how that spells tiga, like I was trying to say tiger but more fly) Watching shows
I'm pretty sure I'm the ideal audience. Not because I'm so awesome of because I'm ideal as a person, but because I react to things the people want me to. I get so emotionally invested in things, its ridiculous. I scream and cry and laugh and vent and get anxious and feel compelled to sometimes watch four episodes in one night so we can just find out what's going to happen, darn it!

TINGA #2: (I'm liking tinga as well) Remembering that shows are fake so I don't have to get upset
Trenton can attest (and my parents and a multitude of friends) that sometimes my emotional involvement gets a little crazy. I'm just so sure that people need to be in love, or that a conflict needs to be resolved, or that Jess needs to get out of Rory's life, or...etc. Not only does it mean I stay up too late, but sometimes I get a lil worked up.

TIGA #3: Sleeping in the Morning

TINGA #3: Sleeping at Night

TIGA #4: Having things to say when I'm not writing my blog

TINGA #4: Having things to say when I AM writing on my blog
Seriously, it sometimes gets so hard to know what to talk about for a blog post. I feel like I write about the same things, over and over again. And repeatedly I promise to write more, and then don't. And sometimes I just get frustrated with it all and so I don't write because it reminds me that I should be working on my book, which can be such a daunting prospect. But I know that writing gets easier the more you write, so here I am writing a blog post anyway.

TIGA #5: Loving Sharks
Let's chat. Let's chat about the media's portrayal of sharks, especially great whites. It is so bad, people. Recently, I have seen so many posts about the surfer whose surfboard got knocked over by a shark. And people freaked out. The video was posted and reshared with titles like "SHARK ATTACKS SURFER!!!" and "SURFER FIGHTS AWAY GIANT SHARK!" when the headline should go like this: "Shockingly, there are sharks in the ocean, and one knocked over a surfboard and then swam away without hurting the surfer at all". I'm not saying it's a perfect headline, it's a little long, but I think it captures the idea of the issue a bit more accurately. Seriously, I don't know if y'all have seen the video, but it's pretty obvious that the shark bumps the surfboard then swims right away. Do I think the surfer has valid reason to be freaked out? Yes. Sure. Sharks are scary. They have big teeth and they can hurt you if they're in the mood (which let's acknowledge that Great Whites are way less often in the mood for that than tiger sharks or bull sharks which are mean and one of which bit off arms in North Carolina so let's not hate on great whites for that incident). So being in the water and being knocked off your surfboard that close to a 16 foot shark would be pretty terrifying. For the surfer. Who was in the water with the shark. And was probably shocked. But not for the millions of people who feel the need to freak out about how aggressive sharks are. The story is told like the surfer made a heroic and daring getaway. Let me just remind people now that sharks can swim faster than people and they have crazy power in their jaws and if that shark had been hunting he (or she) would have hurt the surfer. It wasn't an issue of how awesome the surfer was that they were able to get away, it was that the shark wasn't interested in biting anybody. Clearly, I have strong feelings about this. If someone would like to hire me to write a book of essays (opinions) on sharks (and other animals) I'd be more than happy to do so. Maybe that will be my next project after the Forgotten (which is like a fifth through this final editing process before I say "here agent, please sell my book. please oh please").

Note: If you are the surfer in question or the family of the surfer please know I'm sorry for the scary experience. I think you're real great and I'm glad you're not hurt and that all is well and please don't hate me for loving the shark but I just do. It's one of the things I'm good at, remember?

Note 2: Yes I know this is not me with a real shark but great whites should not be in captivity so I like to just pose with this beautiful depiction. Mmmk?

TINGA #5: Loving all the people I should
On a more serious note, something I've really been working on lately is worrying about me instead of worrying about what other people are doing (something my dad's been telling me since I was like three years old - "you control you. You can't control what anyone else is doing") So I've been working on positivity. When I've been lonely I've been reaching out to others instead of expecting or hoping for them to come to me. When I disagree with a major life choice someone's made or their political opinion I remind myself that we're all just living our own lives the best way we know how. It's a huge comfort to me that I am not responsible for anyone else's actions, and that I don't have to decide if someone else's choices were wrong or right. That's just not my job, and it's not a job I want. While I've been doing better in a general sense, there are still times I find myself feeling wronged, or even worse I find myself feeling jealous at someone else's good news when I should be happy for them. It is such a truth that someone else's gain does NOT equal my loss, but for some reason in this world we live in I find myself feeling that way. So if I've been impatient with you, I'm sorry. If I've thought my way was better than yours, I hope you will be patient with me. If I have secretly been bummed that you got something I didn't (which you wouldn't know about probably because secretly was an operative word here, I'm not just throwing in words to look fancy. That's bad writing, after all. Not that secretly is actually that intense of a word, and some authors would argue that it's adverb 'ly' nature make it bad writing (and to you I say, awlejdsoijgh which means I don't know if I agree or not but don't challenge my writing till I've had something to eat and am less grumpy), then know that I know I shouldn't feel that way and I'm working on rejoicing for you. I want to love people better, to be someone that is considered loving, not judgmental. 

So I guess what I'm saying here, at the end of the day, is we all have strengths and weaknesses. We should love our strengths and we should love the strengths of others. I want to improve my own weaknesses and not fixate on or pick apart the weaknesses of others. I will do my best to not be jealous of you, and you just contain your jealousy for how well I love sharks. Just watch enough shark documentaries and then we'll basically be the same. 

Why Buzzfeed Quizzes are Liars

So. It has been a while since I've posted. I could spend time talking to you about finals, and how Trenton got a raise, or how I am getting a full ride scholarship next through (by way of two separate half tuition scholarships). And that would all be interesting. To someone. I'm sure. And most likely, a finals post might happen this weekend. It is certainly plausible, though I am not promising anything. However, I have been driven to this point of needing to write a blog post by a very serious issue named...

Hello. Buzzfeed quizzes are so full of lies.

As Shawn Spencer once said on an episode of Psych (I believe the Disco one, which is truly a fantastic episode), "Lies! Lies! Lies! Lies!" If you've seen the episode you may hear it in the proper voice and inflection and understand me better. (I looked for a screencap but it was narry to be found. Yes, narry. Deal with it.)

Now, I know that they are just for fun, and that we ought not to get too hung up on such things. But a line has to be drawn, friends. And that line has been drawn. The line is drawn at the point where the lies are so outrageous as to make me say "WHAT?!?!?" loudly and many times, while Trenton laughs mockingly.

I was driven to this conclusion that I can never again trust Buzzfeed quizzes when I took a "What Tangled Character Are You?" Quiz. Trenton took it first.  He received the result of Flynn Rider/Eugene Fitzherbert. That is a good result to get. Especially if you are a boy taking the quiz, and Trenton is a boy. Even. So then, I wanted to take the quiz. And I did. And I did my best to just answer honestly and not try to get any specific result. Because let's be honest. There has been at least one time in your life that you've taken a quiz and purposefully answered in such a way as to get the result you wanted. But I didn't do this. Trenton thought I would get Rapunzel, because of some of my answers. Such as, that I chose the purple color as my favorite color of the choices on the quiz.

Well. Trenton was wrong.

Here was my result.

THE STABBINGTON BROTHERS!?!??! This is a terrible result! Why is this even a possible result on the quiz!?! What about me liking to sing and liking the color purple brings me to the result of the Stabbington brothers. Also, I would just like to say that this is stereotyping the Stabbington brothers and lumping them into one, attributing all the same characteristics to them which is unfair because I'm sure they have their differences, but I digress.

So whatever. This happened a few weeks ago. It was ridiculous and I disagree, but I was ready to begin moving on. Tentatively.

Then, it was today. Now. When Gilmore Girls was first put onto Netflix lots of people freaked out and were so excited and put so much stuff on Facebook about how they were so excited, and I was just kind of like, "meh." But then I watched it with a friend one night, so I'd already seen some of it, and then I watched more at home a few weeks later because Trenton was gone and all the shows I usually watched I watched with him. I started this watching of Gilmore girls during January of 2015. It is now April 22, 2015 and I just watched the series finale today. And let me just say I have some feelings about how everything turned out, but I won't write them here because:

1) spoilers (and I know my mom and sister in law are both watching it so spoilers would be poor form

2) too many feelings. I would get too crazy.

3) that is not the objective of this post.

But I decided to look at a Buzzfeed list about Gilmore Girls that I had seen earlier but had not perused do to not wanting to spoil things for myself. And as I did so I happened upon a quiz named "Which Gilmore Girls Guy is your Soulmate?" Now let's be real. I know that none of the Gilmore Girls Guys is my soulmate. They are all fictional characters which totally different morals than me, and hello I'm happily married and my husband powns all the Gilmore Girls guys. With his eyes shut. That said, I took the quiz for kicks and giggles. 

My result was KIRK. Trenton laughed so hard, so hard. To some of you this will mean very little, like especially if you've never watched Gilmore Girls. But here's Kirk. 

At least Kirk is not the literal worst. I guess. But really. I was displeased. I can assure you, he is not my soulmate. Our souls would not even be acquaintances.

And finally, a couple days ago I took a quiz along the lines of "We Can Guess How Old You Are Based On Your Pop Culture Preferences". It asked you to pick a favorite singer and phrase and movie etc.. out of however many choices. It said I was 51. I've aged really super well. I'm definitely pleased.

I know this post may give the impression that all I do is take Buzzfeed quizzes. Let me assure you this is a lie. My life is filled with many other things, but I thought it was time the world truly acknowledged just how false these quizzes are, and I wanted to share my pain with the collective "you" out there. 

Peace and blessings. Better luck on your own random quiz results. Have a nice day. That's all. 

Feel the Burn

I write this blog today mostly because for the last few days I have had scores of people ask me the extremely complementary question, "What's wrong with your face?" Of course, I've had the much politer alternative, "What happened to your face?" as well as the (correct) assumption that I must've had some kind of run-in with a curling iron. It should be noted here that I have one beautiful friend who phrased the question, "What happened to that one certain part of your face? The rest of it is beautiful" or at least along these lines, and that was very kind and sweet and dear. But here is what happened to my face.

I burned it. With my curling wand. It is kind of embarrassing because its really visible and so many people have asked about it. What actually makes it more embarrassing though is that this was not the only run in with the devious curling implement in the same 24 hours. Alas, no.

I also decided to burn my finger and my hand. To quote Flynn Rider in Tangled, "A terrible decision really." For those of you out there trying to decide whether or not touching hot hair styling products would be a good idea or not, let me testify that it isn't. 

A much more pleasant type of burn I experienced this weekend was the spiciness in my mouth associated with my visit to India Palace with Trenton. 

The main purpose for taking this picture was to send it to my brother to make him a little jealous, cause he real likes Indian food and for most of my life I wouldn't try it. But now I have and oh boy. It is delicious. Trenton and I particularly like the chicken tikka masala and the tandoori lamb. The real story is also that I could probably live off of naan and just eat it for days. Naan isn't spicy, but the rest of Indian food can be, and I burned my mouth on Saturday, but it was totally worth it.

And finally, this picture was also on my phone so here it is because it's lovely, even if it doesn't fit with our theme, because I didn't burn it. 

This is named honey lemon ginger chicken and it was delicious and not even burned because I totally kept an eye on it while it was in the broiler. But not literally, or else I would have burned my eyeball. And that just sounds like the worst thing.

I Have a Real Real Problem With This.

At least once in my life, someone told me that I remind them of Youtube personality Miranda Sings when I get frustrated. That's because when I'm upset my voice gets weird and I say "WHAT?" in what can be described as a Miranda-esque voice. 

Now what I'm about to write made me so mad that I didn't even say "WHAT?" like I normally would.

No, ma'am. And no sir. I don't discriminate by gender who reads this blog. And because that last sentence reminded me of She's the Man here's a clip about not discriminating based on gender. Watch or don't. I just thought maybe it would help you follow my train of thought better. 

But getting back on topic. I am real riled up about something that happened to me last night. Actually, this morning.

At 4:40 in the AM to be precise.

Now, I'm sure everyone reading this (who hasn't already heard this story because I did rant a little about this to one or two friends today) is thinking "Breanna, you goose. You should have been SLEEPING at 4:40 AM."

I was, friends. I truly was. So asleep. So asnooze, like the Whos or whatever.

I was asleep, that is, until the phone rang. It didn't so much ring as make a terrible sound which is supposed to be "vibrating" but sounds like a jammed woodchopper is searching for my soul in order to devour it.

This terrible thought invaded my sleep, but as I do with just about any alarm or sleeping interruption I waited for it to stop or for Trenton to fix it so I could keep sleeping.

Then this conversation occurred:

The scene: Breanna and Trenton's bedroom. 4:40 AM. 

Trenton: Breanna. Your phone is ringing.

Breanna: huh? *checks the phone. It is indeed ringing* What on earth? (the thought process here as I looked at a number I didn't recognize was "no one on earth would call in the middle of the night unless there was a dang good reason. If someone is in trouble, I want to know. So I answered the phone.)

Breanna: Hello?

Man with VERY strong accent with background noise of bustle and chatter: HELLO!

Breanna: *hangs up. is mad*

Phone: rings again and is same number

Breanna: Are you serious!? *answers phone again* Hello?

Same Man as before (not Trenton, silly, the other one): HELLO!

Breanna: It is the middle of the night. I'm not taking this call right now.

Man: *hangs up*

And then I couldn't sleep well for the remainder of my limited resting time. And I'm still so mad! I'm mad that he called twice and interrupted my sleep, but also hello lack of professionalism. He should have at least said, "Alright, sorry" or "My bad" or "bye". 

I'm not pleased. I'll get over it. Life is still beautiful and wonderful and full of joy, and so many worse things in the world have happened. But this is the thing that made me frustrated. SO. If a man calls you in the middle of the night ESPECIALLY if this happens when you're already sick, please know that I am more than willing to commiserate and perhaps start a group to track down call centers and find people who call other people in the middle of the night and tell them to their face, "Your actions hurt my feelings. I hope you make better choices in the future."

New Semester: More Dancing, Less Writing and lots of Random

I haven't updated this blog in a long time. Not a famously long time like three years, but long enough that it feels weird to be writing. Weird but good. Kind of rambly. Not sure exactly what to say. And I hate that feeling, because it's been a long time, so I should have PLENTY to say. Heaven knows I ramble and ramble every single night while Trenton's trying to sleep but apparently my day was SO interesting that I have the right to interrupt him. And then I sit down and realize its been months since I've posted and....

...

and words decide they don't want to hang out. It's like when you get together with a friend you were really close with but haven't seen in a long time and then have no idea what to say. It's awkward. Know what? Maybe just I'm awkward. Psh. That can't be true, I mean, yes, I am awkward, but I'm sure the not knowing what to say thing has happened to other people besides me.

But enough of that. It is a new semester, and this semester has decided to remind me that I'm a dance major. I am taking a LOT of classes, and only one of them in a non-dance class. I probably would forget that there even was an upper campus if it weren't for that darn physical science class way the heck over in the Clyde Building. But I digress. All the dancing is certainly happiness making.

Another happy making thing is that I finished reading through and marking up the full first draft of my novel. Back in December. Aaaaaaaaaaaand since then I haven't really touched it. Which is TERRIBLE and I feel guilty, but it's a little overwhelming to be honest. I went through my full draft and used an upsetting amount of post it notes and slashed through full paragraphs with the red pen and it felt glorious to get through all that. I found all the problems. Oh boy. There are lots. More than twelve, even. This next step, fixing them, has got me pretty stressed out. But now that I've written it down and confessed my pathetic unwillingness to carry on to all of you my loyal readers of this immensely popular blog, maybe I will man up and actually get down to business (not to defeat the huns, but nearly equally as epic.)

Or, maybe I'll just watch more Gilmore Girls. I haven't watched that much Gilmore Girls actually, because Trenton thinks its kind of stupid (he says he doesn't, but he does and that's ok) so I just watch an episode every now and then. But today I felt ill and lame and Trenton was at school and I was woozy so I just watched like three episodes. And might I just say, that it has been a treat for Trenton. I have been singing him that blessed theme song throughout the evening. He's been a saint and hasn't acted annoyed. Here it is if you care to hear. I promise I sing it in all its affected 90s glory.

Oh gosh. It's a gem, folks. Also, I need to tell you all that if there's one thing that drives me crazy its that all the music in Gilmore Girls consists of a WHOLE lot of la-ing. If you would like to hear my rant about the la la la la la music in that show feel free to ask. Otherwise I will spare you all.

Well. This has been a disjointed and not very purposeful blog post, but hopefully it will serve its purpose of getting me back into blogging. Let's even set some goals.
1. Write a blog post about once a week. Unless there are super important things to say, then obviously way more blog posts are needful.
2. Edit that novel. Take the silly manuscript down from the top of the bookshelf and fix the problems. I commit to spending at least half an hour five days a week to this task. That's all I can promise today, but its a lot better than nothing.

Keep being beautiful, kind, loving people. Wherever you are. And with that, I bid you good night.