one. so i’m a little jealous of those girls who get to register for gifts for their homes just because they get engaged. not that i have a house. i have a room and a bathroom. but someday…hopefully. a girl can dream, right? so i figured, screw it. i’ll make me some wish lists.
two. and that is why i was in macy’s china department that stormy saturday a couple of weeks back. i was scanning all the pretty, pretty and making me a birthday gift registry. i did one for pottery barn the next day. and one for restoration hardware this past weekend. i’ll do one for williams sonoma, too.
three. the mass last night was about greed. one of the readings was about the man who’d decided to build a bigger barn because all the things he’d collected didn’t fit in the one he had. jesus called him foolish. yeah, yeah. i get it.
four. the past week or two, i’ve been posting film quotes in my facebook status updates. some were from harry potter films. and while researching one day for the best line from the first flick, i was reminded of this by dumbledore: it does not do to dwell on dreams, harry. and forget to live. yeah, yeah. i get it.
five. i like the songs they play in mass the most. does that make me bad? that came out wrong. i meant the parts of mass i most enjoy are those in which i have the opportunity to sing. i’ve probably mentioned that before.
six. the tune that’s played while the collection is being taken and the priest is preparing the bread and wine for consecration is one of my favorites. it’s called mighty to save by hillsong. when they play this, i love being in church. i feel good. i want to be there. so much so that this time, i was tempted, very tempted, to stay past having received communion. i would’ve.
seven. except i caught one of the life teen youth leaders and his little brother staring at me in a manner that was reminiscent of the manners of others who have taunted me in the past. i was, unfortunately, bothered by this. boys. half my age. are intimidating to me. ridiculous. i jetted soon after snatching the host from the priest. and of course, as fate would have it, i had to brush past both the boys as i vacated the premises. it’s not the mockery that bothered me so much as the fact that it took place in church by someone who should set an example.
eight. over and over again, i sang this on the way to the movie theater. the last movie i remember watching in the theater was iron man two. i figured i should treat myself. anyway, i’m singing this in hopes of recalling a better memory of mass. even hummed it as i crossed the street from the garage to the main entrance of the theater.
saviour, he can move the mountains
my god is mighty to save
he is mighty to save
forever author of salvation
he rose and conquered the grave
jesus conquered the grave
shine your light, and let the whole world see
we’re singing for the glory of the risen king
jesus, shine your light, and let the whole world see
we’re singing for the glory of the risen king
i felt a little better by the time i stepped inside.
nine. i should preface the next bit by saying that i am not, by any means, a fan of zac efron’s. at all.
ten. but since having seen the trailers for charlie st. cloud, i’ve felt compelled to see it. it made me cry. i knew it would. it’s about a man who’s dealing with the death of his younger brother. it’s not an exceptional movie, by any means. but it made me think i should lay off bashing zac efron a bit. he did a pretty okay job. in fact, in some scenes i was seriously impressed. he meets his younger brother’s ghost every evening at sunset in the woods near his home, where they play catch. at first, the time he spends there is the highlight of his day. but eventually, he becomes a hostage of sorts to the promise he’d made his brother years before. the best scene in the whole movie is one which shows just how reluctant he is to go to those woods, how helpless he feels, how obliged and, most of all, how angry he is with himself for going, for being incapable of refusing to go. the director knew exactly how that scene should go. and efron played it so convincingly well.
eleven. the first few months after my brother died, my thoughts were consumed by the oddity that god would take him, who was so valued in this world, and leave me here. i was angry because of this at first. now i’m merely perplexed by it. he keeps giving me second chances. i haven’t the foggiest idea why. it’d be nice if someone could come along and illuminate this for me, as efron’s character had someone shove him a bit of the way toward clarity.
twelve. it’d be nice if just once, i had the gumption and the tenacity to find the answers myself instead of wanting to take the easy way.
thirteen. i want virgin airlines to have a hub in houston. i’m sick of continental and delta, and united sucks ass because they are cheap bastards. you don’t even get those little bags of pretzels. ridiculous.
fourteen. i can’t wait for fall to get here. FOOTBALL SEASON! cooler climates! scarves and boots! yay!
fifteen. having said that, i will be sorry to see swimming weather go.
sixteen. my nephew went underwater the other day. i set him on the steps for a second to rest my arms and go under for a second, just to get my hair off my face. he stands up, hops to the second step, then the third. the third being much lower than the first and second, considering his height. much lower. that won’t be happening again. ever. the boy’s amazing, though. i snatched him up, and when he surfaced, he didn’t gasp or sputter or cry or anything. acted like it was no big deal. so let’s recap. i’ve bitten his fingers (he stuck’m in my mouth, and i wasn’t quite expecting it — i don’t think i told you about that. i was feeding him his bottle, and he was investigating those marvelous white things in my mouth). i’ve dropped him on his head (i don’t think i told you about that, either — he didn’t want to be held, and wriggled out of my grasp. i’d managed to hunch down as he fought to be free and keep him close to my legs so i could, maybe, have a better hold of him, but just as his body was about even with the middle of my calves, he did a champion wriggle and fell right on the top of his head on a ceramic-tiled floor. he was not happy, but recovered quickly), and about drowned him in our pool. i don’t think i’ll be winning aunt of the year any time soon. don’t, whatever you do, tell my brother. he will never let me babysit him. :]
seventeen. i think the plant i bought a couple of months ago is slowly dying. or there are bugs chomping on it. one of the two. not good.
eighteen. my aggie season tickets came in the mail today. oh. how i love them so. they are beautiful. if only i could frame them. i am sitting on the east first deck (the students’ side), near the south endzone from whence the players emerge onto the field. somewhere between the upperclassmen and the visiting team’s goons. this should be fun.
nineteen. i’m quite fond of the television program rizzoli and isles. it’s pretty nifty. you should watch it.
twenty. i’ve also become fond of the closer. should’ve given this one a closer (hah!) look when it first aired.
twenty-one. my hair’s bugging me. i don’t look good with short hair. i don’t look good with longer hair. i’d buzz it again but that would piss off my family. and it certainly would not bode well for my job hunting efforts. you girls with long hair…how does it not drive you batshit every damned day?
twenty-two. i only like new potatoes — i think that’s what they’re called…those purple/red ones? — if you put melted cheese on’m. contrary to this, i don’t like cheese on regular potatoes.
twenty-three. i don’t like eating food with my hands unless it’s pizza, burgers or sandwiches. fried chicken? i don’t normally touch the stuff. too greasy. too messy. yucky.
twenty-four. my great-aunt died today. she was this short, chubby italian woman. incredibly stubborn. i remember that she smiled a lot, a great, genuine smile. the kind that made you think of light and happiness. and she was always so, so interested in what others had to say and how they were.
twenty-five. i will make pizzelles this week in honor of her. they will probably suck, because i’ve never tried to make them before. she used to send us tins full of them when we were younger. she didn’t do that for most of her relatives, even for her some of her children, if i remember correctly. she must’ve really loved us. i didn’t like’m at first. and then, of course, right around the time she began to ship them less and less frequently (because she was getting older and older), i started to love them. and every time i thought of her, i thought of those pizzelle tins. i will miss the jolliness of her.