June 25, 2011

let's go to the movies

One of my great joys in life is to go to the movies by myself. I don't know why I like it so much, and I don't do it very often, but when I do it's the bomb.com. Honestly, I think as a super-extrovert being alone at the movies makes me feel like a rebel. I usually go all out and wear my sorority sweatshirt with the puff paint stain to draw ample attention to myself and my rebelliousness. It's a real treat.

So the other day I was in the mood to go to the movies by myself, like the freedom fighter that I am. Of course by the time I got home and sat down I'd lost all motivation to get up and go out again, so I thought, maybe I will go to the movies this weekend. But then I thought, well that's lame, because 20-somethings are supposed to be in night clubs meeting people and taking pictures to post on Facebook on Friday nights. Right?

As I was considering if it would be lame to go to a movie on a Friday night, I started thinking about how COOL it used to be to go to the movies on a Friday night. I can just see myself sitting in Algebra 2 and passing notes about which movie starring Freddie Prinze Jr. we should go see at Northrock 14 [the cool theater, as opposed to Northrock 6, which was soooo yesterday]. Should we invite the boys?! I mean, we have to invite the boys. Don't tell anyone [pinkie swear!] but I'm totally crushing on Hottie McSweatsalot over there and he totally sat by me in Bio this morning so I'm pretty sure we're in love. I'll call my mom on the office phone at lunch and ask if she'll look up times in the paper. My friend would then spend the remaining 47 minutes of class origami folding notes for the others which undoubtedly included movie details and probably everything I had just said about that boy, too. I'm sure he knew I was in love with him by the time we got to gym class. But I digress.

And seriously, it was like the greatest thing you could possibly be doing on a Friday night. We'd all meet up and buy tickets with our babysitting money. Then we'd file into the theater - and this, this was by far my favorite part. Watch a group of boy/girl adolescents walk into a theater sometime because it's got to be the greatest thing to watch ever. Watch as each one walks at an awkward pace - some too slow, some too fast, some randomly stopping to check for their ticket, some pausing to tie their shoe - trying to stagger their entry to the aisle to ensure that they'll get to sit by their crush. The whole thing was a thrill-a-minute - hearts pounding in suspense of how the seating order will turn out. Watch as they [not in any way nonchalantly] get to the seat they want. Watch as they try to look surprised when they end up there. No one wants to be obvious, that would be social suicide, but how am I supposed to accidentally constantly brush arms with him if he's sitting by that B in the platform flip flops?

The whole thing was just so exciting. We'd go home then and stay up all night talking about how fun the movies were. Seriously - nightclub, facebook pictures, and all - I could not manifest that much excitement now if I tried. And all from a simple night at the movies.

Times were simpler then. Going to the movies was the most glamorous option there was. Brushing arms for ninety minutes was the actual best possible outcome. Now we're all trying to get married and stuff, so the stakes are a little higher. So I hereby rule that going to the movies on the weekends is not lame, rather, it is a throwback to a simpler time. It's a brief moment of no pressure. It's one night of arm brushing in a lifetime of marriage proposals.

I officially have no idea what I'm talking about anymore.

But I fully intend to go to the movies this weekend, if you're wondering.

June 6, 2011

purple is a metaphor

I distinctly remember having a conversation with Kelly Marhaver in high school about how much I hated the color purple. Like, I really hated it. I don't remember why, at all, but I remember that I was adamant that I would never wear or own anything that was even in the purple family. I was morally opposed and no amount of convincing from my ever-fashionable bff was going to convince me I was wrong. Lavender? Ew. Grape? Absolute detestation. Eggplant? Rage blackout. Yes, at a color. I always have been a very passionate person.

I was cleaning my room today because at present I feel confident that there are more clothing items on my floor than there are in my closet, and when it gets to this point even I can't handle it anymore. So I'm hanging up clothes, sorting through a million piles, trying to decide if I can get away with not doing laundry for one more day, minding my own business, and I began to notice a little trend. A recurring theme, if you will.

I own an obscene amount of purple.

I started thinking about it... and I bet I wear purple at least three times a week. At least. And I love it. It's not a reluctant like, a maybe-every-now-and-then-I'll-wear-purple-undies like, but more like if-something-is-purple-I'll-have-to-think-really-hard-about-buying-it-even-if-it's-not-even-that-cute like. I even have purple pants. I currently spend the majority of my adult life wearing the one color I swore I would forever loathe.

I don't know when or why this happened to me. I certainly didn't ask for it or seek it out or force it. I don't remember ever making a conscious decision to not hate purple. One day I just looked around [that day was today, if you're confused] and purple was all up on my sheets and my fingernails and littered in piles of clothing on my floor and occasionally it's even the color of my eyeliner and I don't hate it. Not even a little.

This is not the first time in my life I have decided something, sworn to forever uphold it as truth, and then been proven radically wrong; to the point that a few of my favorite friendships exist majorly in spite of my first impressions of said friends. Sometimes there is a big picture I can't see and I need to be ok with every now and then recognizing that I don't always know best. In fact, I think I take comfort in the fact that even when I've got a baditude, even when I stomp my foot and swear I'll never change, somehow, purple makes its way into my heart, life, and wardrobe anyway. It was natural and organic and spontaneous in a way that most things aren't and I just think that's great.

Fact is, purple is a good color for me. And if I was in charge, there's a good chance I'd have missed out on that. My eyes would still be lined with boring black every day and then how would the green pop? My nails would be painted with OPI Dutch Tulips until the end of time. My shirts would be black and boring and my sheets would be off-white and lame. I shudder to think of it.

I can be short-sighted, narrow-minded, stubborn and a little bit silly.
But when something's right, it's right, and even my silly humanity can't stand in its way.

What a relief.

June 1, 2011

living in loveliness

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Yesterday was, in every other conceivable way, total crap. So when I got home, in a valiant effort to bounce back from said crapfest, I decided to go for a sort-of run. And by sort-of I mean that I have run exactly thrice since I decided I was going to pick up running again. So "running," by the end of said run, is pretty much just walking with enough gusto that my ponytail bounces a little. As long as the ponytail bounces, it still counts. At least I think so.

I love my little neighborhood. It's the kind of place that makes me want to write things and I love that about it. It was just dusk enough last night that as I bounced my way past all the lovely little houses, every so often I would catch a little glimpse of the lives that were being lived there. Kitchens that wouldn't be cleaned til the morning, flowers half-planted, Eeyore, Pooh and Piglet left on a skateboard in the middle of the sidewalk. I imagined marriages that were new there, fights being fought there, lullabies being sung there, dinners being made there. I imagined what summer would be like there. I wrote it all in my head. And then I got a little sad.

It can be a little discouraging to live in the midst of such cuteness. To be fair, sometimes being single looks like dancing at the Rockbar til my feet hurt and I do not hate it. Other times though I feel antsy to join the ranks of the settled, ready to be living in the loveliness too. Sometimes being patient sucks. Sometimes I imagine lives I'm not living yet I feel sad. That does not make for a pretty blog post. I'm not particularly proud of it. But it is honest. And we all know what happens when we're not honest.

If I'm not careful, I can camp out there. Looking in other people's metaphorical [or literal if you're a creepy voyeur like me] windows makes me want to throw things, honestly, because I get sick of waiting, sick of living for someday, sick of being patient. But sadness didn't stick this time because something else did instead. So much of my story is yet to be written. My lovely house is yet to be decorated, yet to be filled with marriage and kids and dinner and summer. Some days I will get impatient for what comes next. But while there's something to be said for being content with today [and I do so wholeheartedly try] there is also a beautiful sort of calm in the anticipation of what is to come. I stopped imagining other people's lives and instead, I basked in the hope of my own.

Before I knew it, I was too busy being excited to be sad.
And I bounced right on home to enjoy living in my very own loveliness, thankyouverymuch.