1. Everyone who reads this blog probably knows how much I love the Mariah Carey classic: “All I Want For Christmas is You.” I play it all year round and keep it on a constant rotation in my itunes shuffle. Its catchy and in my opinion much more a love song than a Christmas song. Also Mariah Carey has pipes and can hit some high notes!
2. This past Holiday Season my dear beloved Troy sent me a youtube video of our favorite Pop Princess having a seriously rough go of it singing All I Want For Christmas is You. I watched the video and was aghast. It was almost bad to Whitney Houston during the whole BOBBAY! drug addiction thing (may she rest in peace.) Though I find it helpful to point out that Mariah was obviously sick, and from the comments on the video people who were there attest that it was bitterly cold. Also I shall never, ever, hit a Mariah high note as long as I shall live even in a tropical climate with years of voice coaching so I’m entitled to give her the benefit of the doubt. At the end of her seriously lack luster performance she’s riffing with the audience all “Merry Christmas” trying to be cheerful when she knows she’s done a horrible job. Santa is on stage with her and she lets out a line of wisdom I shan’t ever forget and now live my life by:
She says, in the microphone and all, “It is what it is Santa, it is what it is.”
Because, sometimes you hit the high notes and sometimes you get a cold in the middle of December and still have to perform live, ya know? Many times we can just do our best and our best isn’t enough and we have to get up and just do it all over again jingle bells n all.
Last night I slept at Maverick’s apartment. I normally never do this on a Sunday night because I have my internship on Monday and my apartment is very close to my internship site. But since we had spent the majority of the weekend at my place and I have an intense Maverick addiction I slept there.
My gps told me it was an 11 minute drive from Maverick’s apartment to my internship but because I am me I didn’t believe this information.
I have to be at my internship at roughly 7:15ish am. Maybe 7:20am.
I left Maverick’s apartment at 6:08am. I got coffee at Dunkin Donuts and arrived in the parking lot at 6:26am.
Basically I have a problem and am watching the sun come up outside work because my ID card won’t let me in yet.
The sky as I left the apartment at the break of dawn.
1. When E sings along to the songs I play for her in the car with me, trying to match my pitch and get the words right. When she wakes up from a nap and snuggles into my chest for just a minute while she’s still waking up. When I ask her, “are you my buddy?” and she smiles and replies cheerfully “buddy! buddy!”
2. When my nails are painted.
3. When the apartment is clean.
4. Getting dinner with my Dad, teaching him how to use instagram. Walking about a Victoria’s Secret with my Aunt searching for a particular bra and cracking up laughing over it.
5. Texts all day long from my beloved Troy.
6. Waking up next to Maverick in the morning and sleepily making our way to the car to go get bagels on a Sunday morning.
1. It’s pronounced, L I B R A R Y, not liberry.
2. It’s pronounced V A L E N T I N E S not valentimes.
3. I will not contribute to your indie go-go, or kick starter campaign.
This might make me seem like a grinch but….SORRY, I shall not do it any longer. For these reasons:
- I have never ever received the stupid “gift” that was supposed to come with my donations. Be it a friendship bracelet, or a “super grateful hug omg!” One time the campaign I donated to did remember to include my name in a power point at the end of the show or something, WHOOPDEEDOO!
- Some of you abuse the fact that we are friends on social media and on days when my newsfeed is just a bunch of people begging me to fund their various inventions/shows/studio recording space it makes me want to throw things.
- People in general are taking advantage of the idea of crowdsourcing. Things I have seen people trying to “fund-raise” for recently: wants to finish grad school but doesn’t want to take out a “loan with a costly interest rate,” honeymoons or other “dream” vacations, weddings, studying abroad, and my all time personal favorite: rent. I just…cannot. I cannot abide by this ridiculous laziness. Tough shit, grad school costs stupid money and I sure would like to be able to take a dream honey moon too. I will still contribute to any kickstarter or indiego-go site for the following reason: 1. social justice movements, 2. people who have been struck with awful illnesses who cannot afford their medical bills whom I know personally. That’s it. Otherwise gtfo my internets.
When I think about He and I, a goofy gratitude shines out of my pores and lights up the space I am occupying. It isn’t intentional. My cynical self frowns at me, even though a genuine smile betrays it anyway.
He makes me feel comfort. Driving us the hour to visit his family, holding my hand in the living room for everyone to see while his mother and I talk and talk and talk.
He makes me feel considered, when he drops a space heater off in my bedroom so I won’t be too cold in these freezing temperatures.
He makes me feel loved, through words, and gestures, and sticky pink love post-its covering my wall. Through the way he looks at me.
He makes me feel supported, for the first time like I have a real partner, instead of putting my energy into someone else’s life, we cheerlead for each other.
There is safety and excitement and a seemingly endless void of comfortable wonderful ahead.
We don’t cringe when the other says forever. I exhale a little bit more every time.
Valentines Day was lovely, as was last year and so shall be next year if I continue to be the luckiest woman alive, Maverick’s girlfriend.
Paint it in blinking glow in the dark neon on my forehead.
Tattoo it on my butt.
Real Deal 365 days a year.
Love, love, grateful love.