And it's all because "I love you" is a preset text message on my phone.

Weird things happen.

We ("we" meaning everyone alive) do weird things.

Doing weird things causes more weird things to happen, to which we respond weirdly.

It's a whole cycle of weirdness.

And I don't think it's a bad thing, because a lot of the time, life is weird.

All that was a sort of explanation or justification for the weird things I may say in this blog and in the blogs to come. I've been writing more lately than I have for a while, but I haven't posted anything because... well... it's weird. I wrote an essay for a class about my grandma passing away last April, and I wrote a sarcastic barista monologue, and I've been writing a ton of letters and notes. My to-do list is a blog in and of itself. And I have a ton of things to say because I've been thinking about a ton of things.

But for a little while I worried about what would happen if I posted those things, because it's a weird combination of things. Who posts a essay about a grandparent passing away and a tongue-in-cheek rant about coffee on the same blog, without some sort of note from a therapist saying that I'm crazy but not dangerous?

Apparently, I do.

And I do it because I'm a weird person living in a weird world where weird things happen and we say weird things about it.

---------------------

Now, about the "I love you" on my cell phone.

I know that Sprint has those preset messages, which also include "Can't answer, text me" and "Where are you?" and "Stop talking before I throw this $300 phone out the window" (okay, maybe that isn't really one of them, but I feel like it would be useful), on the phone to be helpful and to save time. They're all things that people say pretty often, I suppose, so it's gotta be easier to just hit two buttons than a bunch of letters.

Or Sprint just puts them there to take up space, another one of those useless but kind of cool tools like the currency calculator or a ringtone that sounds like water.

But "I love you" ? Come on.

If someone can't take the time to type it out, do they really, really need to be saying it?

Maybe that's an unnecessary logic bomb to drop before noon, but really! Really? Really.

Isn't "I love you" a statement that should take some effort? Some risk?

In movies, an "I love you" text or Facebook comment or shout-out at the end of a love song posted on YouTube: "______ wth lyrikzzzz, OMGez! thiz 4 u babee!" is totally okay, it demonstrates a depth of feeling that could move mountains or leap across burning buildings. But I'm not enough of a romantic (okay, I'm not a romantic at all, at least in the commonly accepted definition of the word) to believe life is like the movies.

Now I want to explain myself, because I feel like I'm not making any sense.

I just deleted this whole little example about a boy named "Edgar" and a girl named "Liza" and how they find creative ways to say "I love you," like yelling it across the street and up at windows and in notes under windshield wipers, in surprise dinners and washed cars, in doing what the other loves even if he/she doesn't love it, in everything they do together. The point of the story would have been that Edgar and Liza were both better off for not ever letting the act of saying "I love you" be boring or easy or even simple. 

And I guess I just ended up telling the example anyway.

I guess what I'm getting at is that if I ever fall in love, I don't want to use the preset text message in my phone. I don't ever want to take it for granted or let it be easy. I want to mean it, I want saying it to feel like jumping off a building or getting a tattoo, because every single time it means something new, it's a new risk and new commitment.

That's all.

Cleaning out my purse always makes me feel like the twisted, messy, indie version of Mary Poppins.

If you've ever seen my purse, you know it has a lot of stuff in it.

A LOT of stuff.

I know I have some sort of mental thing that makes me a constant, ridiculous pack rat, but even I had no idea that I'd gotten to this low (or heavy, because all this stuff has been carried around with me for at least the last month or so) point.

The following is a comprehensive list of what I found when I cleaned out my purse.

1. planner
2. notebooks
1. sketchbook
4. coffee/tea sleeves
1. set of keys
22. crayons
7. miscellaneous wrappers
1. set of secret numbers from my brother
1. note with the time of the sunrise (7:37AM) and sunset (4:29PM) and the cost of ice skating on winter solstice
1. empty box of tic tacs
11. loose tic tacs inhabiting the base of my purse
1. thank you note that I should have delivered 2 months ago
2. green bandaids
1. emergency kit, including but not limited to:

• tide stick
• serving kit
• AA battery

1. Art for India flyer
1. ziploc bag that once contained a sandwich
1. note with the cost of replacing the water pump and EGR on my car (ouch)
1. piece of receipt paper with my manager's favorite movies written on it, to be added to the psychological profile
1. broken arm from a pair of sunglasses. No, I don't know where the rest of the pieces are.
3. cough drops
1. iTunes pick of the week (Josh Groban)
3. rings
1. napkin
1. flower off of a headband
3. receipts
1. piece of paper from a game of telephone pictionary that took place at least 2 months ago
1. piece of backing from a chair at the tea house
1. headband
2. blue binder clips
1. tiny cross from a sermon illustration
5. pencils
5. black pens
1. green pen that actually belongs to Sarah
2. Sharpies, neither of which are mine, and neither of which I intend to return
1. coffee bean
11. bobby pins
1. piece of strawberry candy from a store greeter
1. cap to a blue pen (but no blue pen)
1. tiny plastic bag
1. checkbook, which includes yet another bandaid, receipt, and also a little paper bag, and a note with names of people I want to hang out with on it
1. bottle cap
1. piece of wax paper, I have no idea where it came from
1. piece of receipt paper with a reminder of which showing of the Nutcracker to go to
1. dollar bill
$1.02 in change
1. Burts Bees chapstick
1. bottle of Japanese Cherry Blossom shea butter hand cream
1. wallet with:

• money
• more receipts
• the key to Adam and I's secret language
• more coffee punch cards than I care to admit

1. tea tin with 2 tea bags

and it took a total of 5 pages in my Moleskine notebook to write everything down.

"How long since you danced, Ebeneezer?"

Before I say anything else, I have a couple of disclaimers.
1. I actually don't like Scrooge, or A Christmas Carol, or Ebeneezer, or essentially any film version of Charles Dickens' classic novella, which I sadly have not read. I know the story ends well and it has a great message and it's brilliant and all, but 90% of it just makes me sad and stressed out. So writing a blog about it is kind of hypocritical.
2. I am a terrible dancer, therefore I avoid dancing where people can see me, so that's slightly hypocritical too.

--------------

In case you don't know the story, A Christmas Carol is about a greedy and intentionally miserable man named Ebeneezer Scrooge, his life (or lack of one), and his wake up call, which comes in the form of a dream. In the dream, he meets three spirits: The Ghost of Christmas Past (which usually takes the form of a child or scary looking woman with white hair), the Ghost of Christmas Present (sometimes a fat and jolly man in a green velvety robe), and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (some sort of ring wraith, minus the ring part). The dream consists of the spirits taking Ebeneezer on a tour of his life.

The line I quoted in the title of this blog is said by the Ghost of Christmas Past when she takes Ebeneezer back to his youth and reminds him of the girl he was in love with, the girl that made him want to dance. She was also the girl that eventually left him because he loved his work and his money more than he loved her. In her asking "How long since you danced?" she is also asking if he's content with the life he chose, if he has any regrets. At that point, he is still stubborn, and insists that his way was the best way.

But by the end of the journey, the spirits have given him a radically different perspective of the way he has lived his life, and just when he begins to think that he has wasted his entire existence and will die, he awakes from the dream on his knees, weeping. The new perspective so changes him that he immediately begins to do everything, absolutely everything, differently. He becomes a new man. A gracious employer, a generous citizen, a loving uncle.

And I'm sitting here thinking: I never want to be that man.

There are a number of reasons for saying that, including the fact that he has a terrible nose and a receding hairline. My main reason, however, is that it took a life-shattering dream in his old age to make him realize just how beautiful and meaningful and enjoyable life is, especially when we share it with other people. He had ignored all the things that could have rescued him until he had wasted decades of his time, and it was almost too late.

I hope and pray that I never get to that point.

Which is why I'm so grateful for the little wake up calls, the small rescues, and keep me and you and everyone who has their eyes open from becoming an Ebeneezer Scrooge. They're life savers thrown out to save us from the sea of ourselves.

I've been blessed enough to have a bunch of those God-sent life savers thrown my way. Of course, sometimes they've hit me in the head instead of landing gracefully within arm's reach, but they did their work. I'm glad, because without them I would be a hopelessly sarcastic cynical wreck incapable of sincerity or maintaining relationships.

Those life savers can take many different forms, you know. Some are more obvious than others. If you're too busy looking up, or down, or spend a lot of time staring at yourself in the mirror, you'll miss them. But you need them, and I need them. We need those moments that make us stop moving and really think. Because if we don't keep our eyes open, it's way too easy to get distracted from the things that actually matter.

These are the first things that came to mind. 

Crying over lunch at a Chinese restaurant. Countless cups of tea or coffee that have gone cold because you're too busy talking to drink. Someone looking you straight in the eyes and saying "I accept you." Impromptu snowball fights. 4am trips to Shari's in formal wear. Good books. A week in the middle of nowhere with hundreds of elementary school kids. Babies. Lady GaGa dance parties. Notes stuck under windshield wipers and written with love. Wedding anniversaries. Hugs.

And Christmas.

I guess what's coming next is a benediction of sorts.

Because my point in all this rambling is to wish you a Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year, and that you will see and receive whatever is coming to your rescue.

Confessions of a girl who loves her mechanic for purely monetary and practical reasons, volume II

Plan schman.

So I hung out with my mechanic again this morning, because my beloved Thunderbird was in desperate need of an oil change and a little TLC because the check engine light was on again and it's having trouble starting. All that to say; nothing out of the ordinary.

I called to set the date up yesterday, it went like this:

"_______" (name of mechanic shop)
"Hey, it's Jazmin. I need to bring in the Tbird for an oil change and to see what the check engine light's coding for."
"Okay cool, just bring it by in the morning."
"Deal, see you at nine.'

And then this morning, I walk in, stick my head in the garage, yell out "Miiiiitch!" in my best "oh please sir, fix my car!" voice, damsel in distress style. I hand him the keys, he takes them, and I'm left sitting in the office with a library copy of a Jane Austen book and a travel mug of cold coffee.

I think "Umm, I didn't plan on this...."

Because when a girl decides that she'll just marry her mechanic, she hopes that there will come a time when he will no longer clip her keys to the invoice and walk out the door. She hopes that he will see her pulling into the lot and come bounding out of the office, miscellaneous car repair tools in hand, and open the door of her car for her. He will immediately write her a certificate for free car repairs for life, and proclaim "DARLING, you will never have to worry about broken wiper blades, broken seats, broken door handles, or the catalytic converter failing ever again!"

But things rarely go according to plan for that girl.

Or this one.

If I were a more emotional and dramatic girl, this is the part of the blog which would mainly consist of me promising to stop trying to plan out my life and just live it. I would probably be able to make you promise yourself the same thing, and we would all sit at our computers with weepy eyes and shaky hands.

But I'm not that emotional or dramatic, and I can't make that promise.

All I can say is that I recognize life would be a bit easier if I wasn't such a list-making-scheduling-control freak.

And with recognizing that, I should probably also say that I'm going to try to forsake some of those controlling tendencies.

In other news, I get to go see my mechanic again this week! Coolant leak and EGR fail, hurray!

Celebratory "Awkward Combination of Holidays Day" blog!

Today, I would like to highlight several "holidays"(publicized courtesy of Facebook) that are being celebrated today.

•  Pay it Forward Day. This is a beautiful day! I love the whole idea of it! Everyone who "attends" spends the day running around doing really nice things for other people!
  

However, it's only slightly awkward that today is also:

• National Be a Creeper Day. Now we all have to wonder which holiday that guy who's trying to walk that lady across the street is celebrating.
  

And to make the situation even more complicated and awkward, it's also:

• Wear a Dress Day. AWESOME. Thanks for telling me that I look super nice, but again, WHICH HOLIDAY ARE YOU CELEBRATING RIGHT NOW?! 

It's also World AIDS Awareness day. So along with all the people (hopefully girls) in dresses, the people being creepy, and the people being nice, there are people who genuinely want to help the world.


It's an odd day, to say the least.

There are several ways I have thought of to battle the odd awkwardness of this day, so I'll list them here as a peace offering for that comment about the man helping the lady cross the street.

1. Make a new holiday called "Laugh Awkwardly Day." That way people can't tell whether you think they're an activist, a girly girl, a creep, or a super nice person. They'll be so confused that they'll leave you alone. 
2. Hide in your room. And it's up to you what you do (or wear) whilst in there. 
3. Try to celebrate each holiday independently. This could be done by: (a. dividing your day into 6-hour sections, so each holiday gets their own chunk of the day (b. celebrating them all at the same time. Example: Wear a red dress and look incredibly creepy all the time, except for when you're doing nice things, then you behave like a normal nice person. 
4. Refuse to celebrate any of the above mentioned holidays. 
5. Laugh hysterically. 

xoxo 

You know it's the holiday season when a Folgers commercial makes you tear up.

And my English professor would throw a fit if she read that title. If I cared at all about being grammatically correct,  it should read: "I know it's the holiday season when a Folgers commercial makes me tear up."

Because we all know that I'm talking about myself.

It's not that love coffee so much (I don't even think Folgers COUNTS as coffee), I'm just a sentimental sucker.

I've been like that a lot lately, stuck in that mind-numbing state  of "AWWWW!" that leaves you (me) with a diminished IQ and glossy eyes.

Examples:

• Watching the sweetest little old lady go out of her way, and then fight, to buy her friend his coffee.
• Little kids with their dads. Doing anything. 
• This article about Joel Przybilla (for the Portland Trailblazers) coming back to play tomorrow after multiple knee injuries.
• Sitting at your favorite coffee shop with two of your favorite people, and having them reaffirm everything you've ever doubted in yourself (Sar and Kait - thanks for saving me).
• Notes. 
• Old (as in 70, 80 years old) couples wearing matching outfits. 

But you know, right now it's a heck of a lot easier to make a list of things that DON'T make me cry.

• Any song that refers to a female as "girl." As in "ohhhhh girl, I wanna be loooovin' you girl, girl you so good to me! what would I do wichout you girl!!" 
• This music video. If there was ever a foolproof way to get a girl to seriously consider celibacy, this is it. I mean really, when you put that many bottle-blonde guys into one room and hand them musical instruments, it's just asking women everywhere to flock to the nearest convent.
• The song "Speak Now" by Taylor Swift. If he wanted to marry you, he would. But he's marrying someone else, so he doesn't. Deal. 
• Watching a couple walk up to the register, order, and say they're together... then the girl pulls out her wallet. Really right now?! Man up and buy your own sugar high! 
• Nicholas Sparks books. I personally don't think this even needs a commentary, they're that ridiculous. 
• Long, self-absorbed lists. Wait....

No Shave November: A Love Story

I love beards.

Let me just confess that, right off the bat, so it's not some secret I'm hiding behind my back, switching it irritatingly from my left to right hand to make you guess. Beards. Love 'em.

So No-Shave November (a month-long holiday in which men do not shave, in case you weren't aware) makes me pretty happy.

I feel like I should clarify this, my love of beards, so that whoever reads this doesn't think I have some sort of fetish for mountain men (or mechanics?).

But before I do that, I'll announce that I in no way endorse women celebrating No-Shave November in any way, shape, or form. Seriously, that's disgusting.

So, beards.

From a purely analytical standpoint, there are a few good reasons for this odd love. The first is that the first beard I ever saw was my fathers, which technically wasn't a "real" down-to-the-chest kind of beard, it was just a week or two of stubble.

But I loved it.

And I think I loved it because he loved it. And I think that's because when he skipped shaving, that usually meant that it was the weekend, or some kind of break from school, or summer. So he was happy and relaxed in his beard, which made me feel happy and relaxed as well, looking at his beard.

Then I saw beards on my grandfathers, uncles, and eventually on my cousins. Usually my family is a fairly well-kept bunch, but there are always times when the urge for a beard exceeds all reason. Again, those are times when they're happy and relaxed.

Also, they always seemed to be doing manly things, like barbecuing and chopping down trees and making fools of themselves in order to make their wives smile, they're getting up early to make breakfast for the family, and they're driving and listening to talk radio.

Beards. They make me smile.

Of course, there are always exceptions to my beards-are-awesome rule, things that make beards significantly less awesome. Those include, but are not limited to:
(1. something living in the beard
(2. a case of the beard making the man look like a drug dealer, pervert, or possible assassin.
(3. a beard that exceeds acceptable length and can therefore double as a carpet
(4. a smelly beard.
(5. if the beard has been colored or waxed, it is at least 60% less awesome, but braids increase awesomeness by 15%
(6. if there is a possibility of getting lost in the beard, it is awesome only from a distance
(7. if the beard is used to hide an unforgivably large beer belly, it is stripped of it's awesomeness

But that's basically it.

Here's another brilliant argument for beard-growing: http://www.biggerbetterbeards.org/

An article on No-Shave-November: http://www.jzkretail.com/general/no-shave-november-men/

And another awesome article: http://www.lsureveille.com/entertainment/no-shave-november-popularity-growing-nationwide-1.2051734

http://www.no-shave-november.com/