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Showing posts from March, 2012

back by popular demand

So apparently when you post ridiculously embarrassing videos of yourself on your facebook page....and then hit the town...it can get a little awkward.

Especially if you mention your crotch in those videos.

And even worse, several people were sad that they had missed out.

So I am being stupid, not once, but twice and reposting this again! No promises on how long I will keep it up this time...





and because I have none....a good talk on shame by Brene Brown. And I should admit. I haven't even watched it all the way through. Mostly becuase I'm still reeling a little from her first talk.



keeping track

I think gratitude journals were all the rage 15-20 years ago.
Oprah probably started it.
My mom had one I think, she kept it in her desk top drawer. Just a few things jotted down each day that you were grateful for. I skimmed it a few times. Probably looking for my name or trying to understand the point. Thinking it sounded boring. And besides who needed to write down things that made you happy. It was easy enough at 16 to remember.
A good song on the radio turned up loud.
New jeans.
And pretty much anything related to a cute boy.

I used to read a lot of blogs. And a few years ago everyone was talking about the same one. Anne Voskamp. Because she kept track every Monday. Her own online little gratitude journal and you could link up and add your own.
And even though some of my friends did, I never played along.
And her book came out and I was eager to read it. And it wasn’t quite what I was expecting. 1000 gifts, and the point was to write down 1000 things you were thankful for.
I …

The P word (or alternately titled: damn you pinterest)

I’ve never been able to draw. I always lost at Pictionary. And my students often laugh at my attempts to sketch anything on the board. But I have never let that try to stop my artistic expression or creative outlets.
In middle school I saved magazines pictures and made crazy collages. I covered my trapper keeper, walls, inside of my locker and mix tape covers.
In high school all of my artistic expression was focused on trying to figure out how to apply eyeliner without looking slutty ( I still haven’t figured this out) and deciding which cute boy’s last name looked best next to my first name.

In college we decorated our apartment with posters of James Dean and pretty much anything you could find at Hobby Lobby. I briefly and unsuccessfully attempted some mosaic and one very bad quilt about the size of a pillowcase.
And then I got married and moved and was all about playing house.
I watched Trading Spaces religiously. Because Ty was actually young and hot and not nearly as obnoxious back …

on the road

In the last few weeks, I’ve spent 4 nights in a hotel. 2 on a greyhound bus. Driven through 4 states, run a half marathon and danced on more than a few desks.
I had lunch with friends from high school, ate my weight in Mexican food with my sister-in-law, had dinner with old college friends, snuck in time with some old camp friends, and went to prom and danced my face off with some new ones.

Alone time is rare for me, but for the last two weeks I have had almost more of it than I know what to do with. I got to run whenever I wanted. Sleep in the middle of the bed. Pick the TV channel. Which are all great. But the best part was that I finally remembered.
I remembered who I was and more importantly who I want to be.

Lately I have had a long stretch of forgetting. Forgetting what I’m good at. What I value. What I don’t. What is worth it. And what isn’t. I lost my debit card in Birmingham, left a pair of yoga pants in Austin, lost a lot of sleep. But found, some of the confidence that I s…