You Reek.

It smells like tilapia in here.

& You’re three day old fried catfish.

But it’s okay, because you must love fishy leftovers. 

failure to print

Ya’ll. Today, a miracle happened.

No, two thousand dollars did not miraculously materialize in my bank account. No, I did not bound away from beneath a bolt of lightning. And no, I didn’t receive the perfect package from the unexpected friend at the time when I needed it most. My miracle was… well, a little less miraculous than that.

In my office at work, I have a little printer. I call him Floyd. Floyd is super great. Except, he doesn’t like to print. Which is totally fine, I get it. It’s a tiring job. But when you’re a printer… and you don’t print... things get sticky. Well, when Floyd is being chancy and cumbersome, I get this malevolent little message pop-up at the bottom of my Dell Desktop:

I hate that message. Because when that memo pops up, I know I have to reprint the page and send it to the printer all the way in the copy room. But what that really means is that I have to walk… all the way to the copy room. Granted, it’s probably 30 steps away. Give or take a few depending on the shoes I am wearing. But still. It’s not far. And I get to say hello to my sweet secretary, Tanner, on my way. But. As an event planner, I print a lot. I print invite examples, post blueprints, guest lists, catering confirmations, event photo directories, etc. You get it. So I walk those 30 steps… a lot.

After having this Floyd character forever fail me, I just quit trying. I gave up. And the dust collected on my HP Laser Jet P2015.

Well tonight, I was the only one in the office & I was feeling adventurous and maybe even audacious. So I turned my grooveshark playlist up really loud. The sound dial was half-way up. Man, I was jamming; I was practically at the Johnny Flynn concert. In fact, I was actually performing the concert to all my eagerly listening staplers, tape dispensers, and candy canes.

And you know, I decided to just try out my office printer. I waited for the “Failed to Print” memo to pop up. But it didn’t. I heard the unfamiliar noise of my printer starting to run. The slide of the paper through the ink filled cartilages. Wut. This isn’t real. Floyd just printed Mat Duerden’s registration form to the Publish & Flourish workshop on January 24, 2013. For me. He did it. All on his own. Just for me.

What a guy, that Floyd.

Sometimes, you just need the little things. 

& that's my miracle. 

Ain't Nothin Like My Lover

Music is really important to me. And sometimes I forget that.

We went to Joshua James last night. 

& He played his new album, “From the Top of Willamette Mountain”. 

And it was spectacular. I've never been so absorbed in something before!

Music is the one thing I can control.

And I'm going to do just that! 

I've listened to this 100+ times days: 

& I just miss the days of new CDs and endless hours of driving. 

by Richard Brautigan

I  WAS  TRYING

TO DESCRIBE YOU

TO SOMEONE

by Richard Brautigan 

I was trying to describe you to someone a few days ago. You don’t look like any girl I've ever seen before.

I couldn't say “Well she looks just like Jane Fonda, except that she’s got red hair, and her mouth is different and of course, she’s not a movie star…”

I couldn't say that because you don’t look like Jane Fonda at all.

I finally ended up describing you as a movie I saw when I was a child in Tacoma Washington. I guess I saw it in 1941 or 42, somewhere in there. I think I was seven, or eight, or six. It was a movie about rural electrification, a perfect 1930′s New Deal morality kind of movie to show kids.

The movie was about farmers living in the country without electricity. They had to use lanterns to see by at night, for sewing and reading, and they didn't have any appliances like toasters or washing machines, and they couldn't listen to the radio.

They built a dam with big electric generators and they put poles across the countryside and strung wire over fields and pastures.

There was an incredible heroic dimension that came from the simple putting up of poles for the wires to travel along. They looked ancient and modern at the same time.

Then the movie showed electricity like a young Greek god, coming to the farmer to take away forever the dark ways of his life.

Suddenly, religiously, with the throwing of a switch, the farmer had electric lights to see by when he milked his cows in the early black winter mornings.

The farmer’s family got to listen to the radio and have a toaster and lots of bright lights to sew dresses and read the newspaper by.

It was really a fantastic movie and excited me like listening to the Star Spangled Banner, or seeing photographs of President Roosevelt, or hearing him on the radio.

“… the President of the United States… “

I wanted electricity to go everywhere in the world. I wanted all the farmers in the world to be able to listen to President Roosevelt on the radio….

And that’s how you look to me.

You've been Brown-Bagged

Do you want to know something really strange? 

I love when men bring a brown-bag lunch to work. 
I think it’s the cutest thing. In the world.

I just feel like they are super vulnerable and lovable when carrying 
that buckled and crumpled brown bag…

So husband, be prepared.

I’m packing you a brown bag lunch until the day you retire.

Or die. But hopefully retire. (we hate you, Obama.) 
 

perfect timing, Time.

Things I’ve been saying far too often as of late:

“I don’t have enough time.”

“Dang it, I didn’t set the timer”

“It’d be different if there was more time.”

“Because we still have time.”

“It’s just really bad timing”

I’ve been having too much trouble with our dear friend, Time.

He’s just been a real butthead. 

Everything was so right, yet the time was so wrong. I want to blame you; I want to blame me; I want to blame Time. I just want something to blame. But I can't. I know that I cannot have true faith in the Lord without also having complete trust in His timing.

As I prepare myself in the way the Lord has directed, I can hold myself in a latent readiness to act on His timing. He will tell me when the time is right to take the next step, or even the first step. So for now, I will simply concentrate on what I’ve been asked to do today. And take on tomorrow as it comes. I will wait for the day when the timing fits; when the unreachable becomes reachable, the unavailable becomes available, & the unattainable becomes attainable. 

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: …A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; …A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; … A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; …

… A time to keep silence, and a time to speak”

Ecclesiastes 3

a letter

Oh Annemarie, believe me, 

I'm convinced 

that I've got tennis elbow. 

But I won't let it show until you've finally flown away. 

Love, 

The silhouette chasing rainbows on her own. 

p.s. When can I see you again? 

The Nice Guys

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"I've decided, I'm going to marry Damon."

“Why Damon?”

“I kinda like the jerks”

“Why do girls like jerks?”

“Sometimes girls just like the chase bad boys give them. But no girl actually falls for the jerks. Girls like boys like you. The nice guys.”

“Really? I’ve never thought that. From what I’ve seen, nice guys never win.”

“In the end, nice guys always win. And if they don’t win, it’s not the end.”

 

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I know you’ve seen it before… But,

This is my tribute to the nice guys.

This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet; from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style. For all the nice guys that put up with so much; from the jealousy to the insecurities to the PMS. For all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated. For all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned.

 This is for you.

This is for that time you drove her to buy a mop. This is for that time you picked her up from school because it’s too cold to walk. This is for that time you forced her to watch Vampire Diaries. This is for that time you brought her quesadillas when she blew you off for a date because she had a “rough day.” This is for the time you taught her the value in clean music. This is for that time you told her that you missed her, and she responded with a trenchantly tart text. This is for that time you held her face in your palms and said “None of that matters; I just want you to be happy.” This is for all the times you’ve made her laugh when no one else could. This is for all the umpteen times you’ve been called the huggable “best friend”.

 “Because you’re just too nice." 

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get the girl as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. Because I am guilty, too. All I can say is: girls, watch out. Because your world would stop spinning if it weren’t for the Nice Guys. I know mine would.  Many girls claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say frustratingly fuddled things like “oh, he is too good for me” or even “I’m too bad for him”, and sometimes just: “he’s too nice”. Yet, we continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world and resort to the “jerks”

But Hey,

Nice Guy.

The world needs you; I need you.

For your holding open of doors. 

For your patience in department stores.

For all the conversations where you hold your tongue.

For continuously hearing yourself described as ubiquitously ‘really nice’.

For all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless, recognition-less hero.

My accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this world, and your well-deserved vindication is coming. There will be a day when the nice guys finish first.

The Most Beautiful Mind

This is my little sister, Rebecca. Eight years ago. 

I wanted to give her a make over.

But she only wanted blue eyeliner (like a mermaid).

I wanted to make her hair big & bouncy. 

But she only wanted to wear this hat (like a pioneer). 

I wanted her to act like my model. 

But she only wanted to do this:
(because "Jenna, I just like it")

& I think she has the most beautiful mind.

***************************************************

Every girl is expected to have caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama and doll tits.

The person closest to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes.

Everyone else is struggling.

- Tina Fey

***************************************************

Vegas Misconceptions

This photo was conveniently stationed on facebook this morning. 

What does it look like? Yes, it looks like he is spanking me. 

Well. That's weird. He isn’t.

Let me tell the real story: We were in Vegas. Sin City. The strip was packed; bombed ladies and boozed gentlemen everywhere. So when all my lazy-a friends took the escalator, I decided I would take the stairs. You know, to work off that Secret Pizza slice & the 15.3 cookies I'd eaten for dinner. Naturally, he came with me. And naAaAaaturally, I bunny hopped. Up each & every stair!  That’s normal, right? And he was just behind me making sure I didn’t fall backwards. Because I'm clumsy & klutzy & a Neeley. Obviously. Or maybe he was just making sure I didn’t elbow a sinless, schnockered, or sauced Strip-walker in the face. Either one’s fine with me. Seeeeee, I left Vegas clean-handed & crime-less! No need to worry about me, Mom! You just have a half-rabbit daughter. 

What happens in Vegas… Is this.

I’m a babe in the woods & it’s called Sin City for literally no reason. 

(Except an extraordinarily entertaining/wonderful/perfect weekend with these seven beauts.)

Just thought I'd clear that up.