Christy Got Married

I went back to the home town for a wedding yesterday. One of my best high school friends got married. She was beautiful and truly looked happy. It took place at First Baptist Church, which was the church we attended when lived in Arkadelphia. I hadn't been there in thirteen years. It was nice. One of the few places where I don't have any overly embarrassing or bad memories. The church and, of course Mazzios pizza. But, who has bad memories at Mazzios...mm pizza...no, must focus.

Anyway, wedding went off without a hitch. Everyone that was supposed to be there was, none of the bridesmaids looked resentful, the groom didn't have that "where the hell am I?" look, no one tripped, the singer didn't choke and there was no awkward pause while they lit the unity candle. So all in all it was a great wedding.

The reception was nice too. I am a huge fan of wedding punch. It wouldn't take much for me to grab the punch bowl and chug it down like there's no tomorrow. But, I feel that might be a little frowned upon so I stuck with my eight refills instead. The wedding cake had a raspberry filling, so I was pretty happy about that too.

Most of my high school friend group was there. The majority I hadn't seen since 1996. It's weird how people can be so different and yet so much the same. All of them were married. Yep. As of yesterday at 2:45pm I am the last single person of that particular friend group. Good thing I now hang with people in their younger 20's who aren't "ready" or I might be depressed.

Actually, the single thing doesn't bother me. I don't really dwell on not being married too much. If it happens-great, if not-great. But, there is something about being surrounded by married people who are your age and graduated when you did that can be disconcerting. Most of them had kept in touch in some way. I just read their Facebook status. So I basically know when they're home from work and if they're tired, but nothing about their actual lives. I don't have alot in common with them anymore.

They all had babies. And that's what most of the conversation was about...their kids. And, yes, I know I have two kids. I had my two kids way before they had theirs (ha ha beat you!). But, for some reason I am not a good talker about babies. I spent a good portion of both pregnancies praying I would like mine and they wouldn't be those crazy crying kids. Well, God said okay and I like both of mine and they aren't crazy criers. So, I spent alot of my time standing on the outskirts of conversations, wondering around for coffee, the groom's cake and more punch. This is good because usually when I'm in an uncomfortable situation I start to ramble on and on about really trivial things I know and alot of times it ends with the phrase "and that's why I'm not sure how they could make a Buffy and Angel movie, I mean how would they work Spike in."

Although that said, I did have Holly. She was my very first friend when I moved to Arkadelphia. Although we weren't the closet of friends in high school, she was my BFF at the reception. She's married too, but no kids yet. And she had just enough sarcasm and humor to make me love her. I pretty much went where she did. Bless her heart. I latched onto her like a frat boy latches onto the last Bud light in the frat house.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed the wedding and the reception greatly. It was incredible to see Christy so happy. I made a lot of very bad decisions in high school, and one might say didn't have the greatest reputation, but this group of friends stayed my friends. So I loved seeing them with their spouses and kids, hearing about new jobs and opportunities. Seeing this made me truly happy. I'm the one with the problem. Yeah, I'm 31 years old, never married, two kids, just now a junior in college, and working part time as a stock girl. But I need to get over it. I'm working hard so those won't be my labels for much longer.

Of course, it's still a little unnerving when the mother of the bride comes into the room and yells out "I need all the single ladies, are there any single ladies? Christy is scared she won't have anyone to throw the bouquet to....oh hey Angela, aren't you eligible for this? Come on." She grabbed me and two tween girls. I didn't catch it.

All in all, a great day. Ms. Slavens and Mr. Patterson still hang out, Dr. Tranthum still plays the organ, Mr. Kolb still makes friends with everyone he meets, Mary Elizabeth is still the cheeriest person I know, Holly is my new BFF, and I got to witness one of my best friends in love and committing her life to it. It was a great wedding.

By the Pool Side

I am in possession of many pet peeves. I hate when someone pulls out in front of me and then proceeds to drive five miles under the speed limit. I hate that I seem to be the only one in my house that realizes there are designated places in the dishwasher for the bowls, plates and cups to go. Deviating from that design totally messes up the efficiency of which dishes can be cleansed. I hate there is always that one person who will ask "are we having fun yet?" while working on a project, that is obviously not fun. The question is not witty, funny or any form of encouraging. It's not even funny sarcasm, I don't even know how to respond to the question. I just know every time it is asked I have more and more trouble restraining myself from punching them in the face.

It also drives me crazy when a professor will do a review for a test and state how many points are possible and then someone will ask "how many points are possible?". I can't stand it when someone can't take a compliment. Really, just say thank you. It's not that hard. Other pet peeves include people coming in on the last five minutes of a TV show and then asking "what happened?", employees asking me "are you sure?", him hiding not wanting to spend time with me behind the mask of being too busy, red lights, David Caruso, lettuce, being forgotten and people who complain about every situation...ironically.

But what gets me the most, what I hate above all is at this moment a friend of my eight year old niece is struggling with a brain tumor that doctors can't get. How do you explain to an eight year old that her headaches and pain might never go away?
I hate that someone I love is drowning in a pool of crushing debt, depression and her own bad decisions. And, we her family, just stand by the pool side waiting and wondering who's going to jump in and save her.
I hate that another of my friends has tied her self worth to a man that has little worth of his own. She would rather be miserable and hurt with him than happy alone. I hate that I know these things, but at the end of the day - it's the red lights that really get to me. I hate I'm that kind of person.

I see you...in the bar, laughing a little too loud at his mediocre jokes. You hope he'll make you feel desirable and beautiful, even for just one night. I see you look around in hopes the waiter is on his way with that third drink because you know that's the only way this night will be tolerable. You're grasping for fleeting moments that were never meant to last a lifetime. You're grasping at all the wrong things that only add to the emptiness you have.

I see you...wondering up and down Cantrell, Markham, Broadway and Rodney Parham. Your scarred with dirt in your hair, on your face and on your clothes. Everyday for the past eight years you have been walking up and down these streets. Always on your way with no where to go. People who walk by are careful not to make eye contact with you. You are someones son, someones grand child. But there was a day you became too hard to care for, too hard to love. There was a day that someone gave up on you, and let you go. And you were forgotten.

Yes. I do see you. And I'm sorry that I have used my problems as an excuse to ignore yours. I'm sorry that for some reason I don't use the courage that has already been given to me. I'm sorry that all I do is wait, all I do is see.

Crazy Uncle Harold

I haven't been very inspired lately. Although things seem to be shifting in my life recently (for the better) I feel the need to keep it close to my heart and not on blogspot. I do hope you understand. But, oddly enough I found some inspiration by the weather report today.

I love Arkansas weather. I love that I wore a sundress with flip flops today and on Wednesday I'll need to wear snow boots with my sherpa hat. We reached a record 81 degrees today and on Wednesday we'll be down in the 40's with a chance of light snow mixed with rain. I smiled at this. I could almost picture Old Man Winter giving us, and that young whipper snapper Spring, the finger.

I see Arkansas winters as our cranky 95 year old rich uncle (we'll call him Harold for short). He comes to stay with us every November and we all tolerate his presence until his death in March. We hope he'll bring gifts of white Christmas's and snow days from work and school. But not Harold. Usually he says "screw you" and instead gives us ice on Friday night and has it cleared up in time for Monday mornings. He takes naps here and there throughout January and February, letting 70 degree weather tease us. Harold will then pull the ultimate prank.

He'll go away for awhile. Warm air takes over, flowers begin to bloom, girls flock to buy tube tops and shorts that could double as underwear. Arkansans start making plans for picnics and other outdoor events. We get comfortable. Harold finally died, we don't have to worry with that grouchy S.O.B anymore. And then, just like Glenn Close at the end of Fatal Attraction or that guy with the moustache at the end of Sleeping With The Enemy, Harold pops up from the dead and throws hail at our heads with a wind chill of -10 degrees. Crazy old Uncle Harold.

Even though it happens every year, Uncle Harold gets us every time. And I like it. We live in a state with 2 months of Winter, 4 hours of Fall, 45 min of Spring and 10 months of Summer. So, I say long live Uncle Harold. He's got spunk. And tomorrow I will happily wear my scarf with a smile and dodge the hail with a gleam in my eye.