she got me

Gramma had always told us that when we had to clean out her house someday after she died that it was very important that we didn’t just throw anything away, but instead go through pockets of clothes, and leaf through books before we decided what to do with them.

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On My Way Home

you love me when I write from planes

So I had the absolute perfect picture of my cousin Cool Chris with his arm around Creepy Peter Playpal and I had the Worst Digital Camera Fuck-Up that was completely my fault and lost so many pictures from the trip, including that one. I had taken a picture of my gramma’s frame, pictures of the house, things I had found, people I had met, all sorts of stuff. But I was so upset about losing the Chris And Peter Are Playpals picture that I just had to have a small tantrum on the phone on the second floor, begging Chris to drive all the way back to my Gramma’s house and take the picture again.

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Just a Few Pictures

because it’s late, and because i’m spending time with my mommy.

I took a few pictures today of gramma’s house. My mother and her family have really cleaned this place out since the last time I saw it, and I was surprised at how small everything looked, when I was used to it being so big.

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i hate the letter “c”

I’m still sick. I’m still sick! I have to get on a plane in the morning, and I’m still sick! And I’ve got to get this Ally recap done before I get on the plane, and I’ve got to pack and stuff…

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finding myself

answers in chaos

Late late entry today, which I’m doing while I stall before making my Ally McBeal recap. (Oh, go vote for Meghan Green from “Get Real” as Most Obnoxious Teen Character in this week’s Embie nomination! Make mommy proud. With both Ally and Meghan nominated for Most Obnoxious, I’m going for two for two!)

Hey, the year 2000 for the most part has completely sucked ass. I don’t know anyone who is having a good year. Seriously. Break-ups, job changes, life changes, death, illness, divorce, all of these things are surrounding me and my close friends and family. And in between all of this chaos I also found myself turning twenty-five, and with that has come a sort of searching for what I want and what I need to start the next part of my life.

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a few notes to send out

Dear Eric,
As much as you love visiting your family, I’m very excited that you are coming home tonight. I wish it weren’t so late. I’m not too familiar with the new airport, so I don’t know if I’ll meet you at the gate or not. I’ll be somewhere around there, though, so don’t worry.

Give my love to your family before you get on that plane. And don’t forget to bring home your Christmas presents again, like last year.


P.S.– The washing machine seems to be broken. I’m blaming Matt and Becca. I know that they used it when we were gone. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I threw our throw rug in the wash thinking it would be spotless when you got home, but instead tore itself to shreds inside the machine and turned the inside of the machine a bizarre orange. But, you know, school spirit and all, we should have a burnt orange washing machine, right? Heh-heh. Uh, anyway, now it seems to just hold water in there for a while and not wash or rinse anything at all. I’ll talk to Matt about it, so don’t you worry about anything.

P.P.S.– I love you!

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warm thoughts

from a remote site

Merry Christmas Eve.

I made it to my parent’s house, and my favorite thing about the drive here (well, it’s really the only interesting thing to see on the entire drive…) is a sign that’s posted in front of a Pecan Stand.  It proudly boasts in large letters:



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Mom's List

christmas memories

My mother loves Christmas. Every year it takes about four hours to open all of the gifts. Not because of the amount of presents, but rather because each and every one must be opened separately, and everyone has to admire the gift before moving onto the next one. Breaks have to be taken for coffee and tea, phone calls, restarting the Christmas CD.

One year my mother had it all worked out to where she decided what gift was opened when according to a small number that she had written on the tag of each gift. She held the master list that said what each number corresponded to. So as not to confuse which #7 was mine and which #7 was my sister’s, she had each present with its own unique number.

We couldn’t look at the list because it had all of the gifts written on it.

The problem surfaced when Mom realized that she had made this list late at night, and after the gifts had been wrapped. Thus when she thought #16 was a sweater, it turned out it was batteries for a gift that hadn’t been opened yet. I remember my mother curled around the list on the couch, trying to both decipher her numbers and sheild us from peeking. We would just sit there looking at her and then she’d declare, “Try number eleven.”

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the sounds of silence?

oh yeah. i’m sorry. that’s christmas.

My, oh my. It’s already Christmas time. That means it’s almost the year 2000. What’s Conan gonna do with his sketch? “In the year 2001” doesn’t really have the same ring.

This also means it’s time to send out my Christmas cards. Last year I had a great time exchanging them with you guys. The bad news? I changed jobs. I lost just about every address you guys sent in. The good news? I want you to send them again. If you want to exchange Holiday Greetings, send me your address. Huzzah!

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