Chosen one...

...seems to be pretty common, considering it's in Harry Potter, Star Wars, the matrix, the terminator, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

This one's about Buffy, though.

So, I've been finding in the past few years that my entire childhood/high school life was woefully lacking in some pretty awesome pop culture stuff.  I didn't read Harry Potter until my junior year of college.  I was completely unaware of the existence of both Arrested Development and Firefly until they were already off the air.

I know.

But I am coming to realize it is also tragic that I missed the entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer train.  I've been watching it lately, mainly because Firefly was a perfect storm of beautiful Whedon-ism so I now want to see pretty much everything he has ever made.  I'm a little ways into season two, and my feelings have proceeded thusly:

Confusion

Terror

Confused fear

 Dread

Love for how adorable Willow is (seriously, I love her)

Smugly thinking I know what's happening with the plot

Being proven wrong in the most nightmare-inducing way possible

Coming to adore Spike for his fabulous snarkiness (this show has excellent levels of snark)

This show just gives me so many feelings.  I love the characters and I love that Whedon is intelligent enough that none of his characters are flat.  They all have depth to them and character development.  None of them is a static stereotype and I just adore that.  I also love that Whedon is not even remotely afraid of having strong, awesome, kick-ass and lovable female characters.  Rather, he completely embraces that women can be complex and dynamic and don't have to be consigned to bitchy girl or hot girl.  They have personalities and stories and are wonderful.

Basically what I'm saying is that you should all watch this.  It's wonderful.  Off to be happy and terrified and heartbroken and watch some more.

my life is one of indecision...

...and turmoil.

How many of these posts have something to do with freaking out and growing up?  Any of them?  All of them?

Fabulous.  Here's another.

I am in the midst of serious big-kid stuff.  I took the LSAT in December.  I got my scores back.  I started applying to some law schools.  I have been compulsively checking the mail and email every hour since I sent off those applications (Tyler says it will probably take at least a few weeks, but it can't.  Obviously, these schools need to be made aware of my delicate condition:  a condition of constant stress and panic and a complete lack of any patience).

I am making a decision that will likely shape the whole future course of my life, y'all (threw that in for my Texas friend.  And because it's fun to say).  This is career-choosing.  I am picking the career that I will conceivably be doing for the rest of my life.  This determines how many hours I work each week (a lot), how stressed out my job will make me (very), how much free time I will have to spend with Tyler and our hypothetical progeny (less).

Yes, our kids will be exactly this awesome.

I'm just saying, this is a lot to take in for the girl that still fights with Tyler each night over who has to pick what movie we are watching.  Least decisive couple in existence.

So my little freak-out is totally understandable, right?  It's totally normal for me to be mourning the loss of my future as a world-famous and universally loved actress.  Sure, I am not skinny enough, talented enough, or really driven in that field at all, but up to this point RUNNING AWAY TO HOLLYWOOD TO GET RICH AND FAMOUS HAS BEEN AN OPTION.  I am killing that option.  It is dying.  I will never be the next Jennifer Lawrence now (though, come on, did you see Silver Linings Playbook?  No one tops that level of crazy-awesome).

Seriously, fabulous.  You don't even know.

 

That back-up plan of just throwing away this whole education thing and becoming a singer?  Gone.  Becoming the voice of our generation through my brilliantly biting rhetoric?  Over.  Well, probably.  I seem to find ways to cling to this stuff even as I'm closing my own doors.

The point is, adulthood keeps creeping up on me.  Every time I make one of these eventually unavoidable decisions, I am picking a door.  Once I go with door number three, doors one and two are no longer options.  My choices just got narrowed.  Even if through door number three is a series of new doors, I still have lost all the doors that were behind one and two.

Does this make sense?  Or is this game show talk spinning out of sense?

I realize this is all pretty normal stuff and all of us have to do it as we get older.  I just seem to be making these choices and then regressing into a four-year-old mentality.

"I don't wanna."

(Story of my life right there.  Seriously, ask my family about the London layover sometime.  Ask Tyler if I am ever pointlessly stubborn.  The stories they could tell...actually, don't ask them.  I am angelic)

I guess the realization for me here is I may not wanna, but that's just too damn bad.  Choices are being made.  Life is being narrowed.  Now I just need to make sure I get better at committing to my choices.  Being solid in what I've chosen and running with it.  And I think I can do that.

My next movie choice will be The Saint.  Prepare yourself for some fabulously terrible romance, Tyler.

The tale of the stoned puppy...

...pain medication does strange things to a dog.  Turns out.

So, our baby girl got spayed today.  I may or may not have felt like the worst mother in the world when she got in the car to go to the vet, all excited, whole body wagging, and I knew exactly what she was headed for.

Something like this.

 

Now she is back home with us and all kinds of doped up.  The dog that normally decides it is time to run sprints around the house with a piece of my underwear in her mouth has spent all afternoon sprawled on a couch with a blanket over her.  Every now and then, she will muster the energy to slowly lift her head, thump her tail a few times, and bestow a few licks upon our faces before dropping her head back down.

Layla's approximate state of mind right now.

Reflecting on my dubious mothering skills with my puppy has lead me to imagine my (probably superlative) future skills as a mother to a human.  Now, I'm still not entirely sure that I absolutely am going to have this hypothetical future child, but, you know.  Just pep-talking myself beforehand.  So, now I enter into my skills as a mother, as discovered by my skills as a puppy-mother:

Teamwork:  One of the most important parts of successful puppy-parenthood is teamwork.  I need to be able to work with Tyler when it comes to taking care of the baby.  Most often, this means telling him that if our furry child bites me one more time, I am going to become a creepy she-hulk.  Then I leave him to play with Bitey McShark and I got sit upstairs and watch stupid television on my computer.  Just one fine example of my excellent mothering skills.

 

This...this ended up being less inspiring than I intended.

 

Medicating:  Specifically, self-medicating.  Sometimes, having a baby stresses you out.  The need for constant attention, the destruction of things, the adorable, but occasionally painful bouts of scratchy and nippy affection...it can all add up to some stressful moments.  Fortunately, I have prescribed for myself a steady regimen of baked goods (heavy on the chocolate), mixed drinks, and hot chocolate (also heavy on the chocolate)...(and cinnamon.  It's delicious).

 

Pretty much like this.  But in sweats.  And without a vacuum.  And not a model.

 

Whining:  ...okay, maybe this is not a stellar example.  But I still do it sometimes.  O well.

 

Affection:  This is not even hard to do, because even though she can be a handful, she is an adorable, furry, loving handful.  Every time she sees that I am mad, her reaction is to put her ears flat back against her head, cocks it to the side, looks at me all lovingly with her enormous puppy eyes, and wags her whole body at me (the tail is never sufficient) while covering every available part of me in puppy kisses.  How do you stay mad at that?  Answer: you don't.  Not possible to stay mad at your adorable child. 

 

I defy anyone to be angry at this face.

Puppies: exhausting and crazy, but probably the most wonderful fluffy balls of unconditional love in existence.  Thanks for making life great, sleepy dog.  I'll let you destroy some socks later as penance for sending you to the vet.

Take a picture...

...and keep it in your mind.

I've been thinking a lot lately about family and friends.  I think that is fairly  normal when going through a...what would you even call this.  A family illness?  Sure.  Anyway, the other day I noticed: when I hear the name of someone I know, my mind flashes, not just to their face, but to an image of them doing what I most associate them with.  Basically, my mind automatically puts them in the place that I consider that person the most themselves. 

For instance, this is what comes to mind when I think of Kaylee.

This has interesting implications to me and, being vaguely narcissistic, it makes me wonder where other people picture me, where they would consider me most myself.  Of course, I'm sure my image of myself probably differs from how everyone else sees me.  And everyone has a different perspective on everyone else.

So, for instance, when I hear Tyler's name, my mind flashes to him surrounded by his friends and laughing, maybe while in a kitchen covered in flour.  My strongest images of who Tyler is have to do with what a social person he is, what a loyal friend, how he loves taking care of people (often by filling them with food).  Obviously, there are hundreds of other components that make up who Tyler is, but this is how my subconscious most strongly sees him.

My subconscious also sees him shaggy-haired and bearded, but, alas, he believes in shaving now.

My sister, Becca, flashes to my mind telling jokes, making faces, and surrounded by people laughing, probably with our dog in her lap.  Abby is surrounded by books and artwork, smiling her wry smile at me about some inside joke.  My mom is smiling and talking to people, so happy to be around people, listening to them and exuding warmth.  Dad is sitting in his big chair at home, cracking jokes and teasing the family and playing with the dog.

My mind doesn't flash to everyone in a good light.  There are some people whose names I hear and my mind instantly goes to them yelling or angry or cutting and sarcastic (granted, these are generally people I don't know very well and have had mostly unpleasant interactions with).  I would be horrified if that's what people flashed to when they thought of me.  But I think that we most associate people with the emotions or the images they most frequently display around us.  So, if I don't want people to think of me as an angry person, I need to make sure I am infrequently (or never) angry to people.  Rarely unkind.  Almost never rude or condescending.

This is some serious motivation for me to behave better, to not write off my bad moments as "normal" or "human", to not constantly excuse myself and shirk responsibility when I snap and hurt people.  Of course, I'm not perfect (and, as I've learned lately, not always as patient as I could be), but I can at least make effort and, when I fail, make amends.

Anyway, ending this on a lighter note, you should shoot me an email or comment if you are curious about my flashes of you.  I have very pleasant ones about most people I know.  Also, please indulge my curiosity and tell me what flashes into your mind with me.  Because I am just that curious.

Love you all.

I'm not dead!...

...but it has been way too long.

In my defense, I couldn't get access to the blog while in China.  However, the Tyler and I have been (quite unexpectedly) back in the states for...about a month now.  And I have not updated.  Because I am a slacker.

The totally stable face of a slacker.  No crazy eyes there or anything.

Our plans were thrown into chaos after we had been in China for about three weeks.  We were going about our teaching as usual (Tyler's students loved him.  Like, LOVED.  As in, would beg to sit with us at lunch so they could talk with him more) and nothing had happened beyond the usual and expected travel illnesses.  I got food poisoning at the end of our second week, Tyler got it in about the third week, then it went away.

Or so we thought.

Then some pain started.  First in his shoulder.  Then his ankle.  It got so bad he couldn't make the forty-minute walk in to school.  We headed to the doctor across the street from campus after class to see if she could give us some crutches and, like a good doctor, she took his temperature.

And promptly sent us to the emergency room.

After several hours and many unnecessary tests, we ended up in a hallway.  Tyler was sleeping on a gurney with an IV in him and I was in a chair by the foot of his bed squishing the roaches that wandered too near him from their nest in the wall.  Three wonderful people from the school we worked at (two teachers and a student) stayed with us the whole night, waiting for news and making sure we weren't alone.

The next day we were moved to the very nice and longer-stay portion of the hospital (we found out later we were in essentially the party leaders' hospital.  And we got our own room!).  Tyler was seen by several doctors each day and always had between three and five bags of IV fluid put in him.  The pain had shifted to his knees and wrist along with the ankle and shoulder and he was running high fevers nightly.  He couldn't move much, so we spent most of our time trying to entertain ourselves and desperately trying to understand the Chinese soap operas on tv.  I think one character has a disease that keeps her crying at all times.  I never saw her dry-eyed.

We were informed it is actually a Korean show, but it was on Chinese television.

We lived at that hospital for almost two weeks.  The doctors would tell me that they were testing for increasingly more terrifying diseases.  We called our parents.  A lot.  We went from fear of bacterial meningitis to tuberculosis to bone cancer to yellow fever and no tests came back with any answers.  We were losing it.

We finally got an unofficial diagnosis: reactive arthritis.  Turns out, Tyler's body really does not like any sort of strange bacteria and will attack his joints when they find one.  He has now had arthritis for about a month.  Some days are better than others.  Some days he needs his dad to pretty much carry him up and down stairs, most nights he can't sleep from the pain, and days are generally spent on the couch, the chair, and the bed.  If he is feeling good and very ambitious he tries to take the dog on a walk, but generally it lasts about ten minutes.

O yeah.  And we now have a dog.  Our baby.  Her name is Layla and she is a beautiful little German Shepherd.  She is also trouble, but with us as parents, that's not so shocking.

Behold, the cutest dog in the world.

Anyway, we made it back to the states and are currently living with Tyler's parents in Colorado.  I am studying for the LSAT and Tyler is doing his utmost to train the puppy and keep on top of his pain.  Hopefully it fades soon.  I really, really hope so.

In the meantime, we have no choice but to have a sense of humor about the whole thing, as much as that is possible.  Tyler has decided not to swear in front of the puppy (she's just a baby), so his go-to expletive is "SWEET MOTHER OF FLUFFY".  Thanks for that, Kirsten.

Love you guys and sorry I was out of the loop so long.  I will try to keep this updated.  You are all fabulous.

Talk to you soon.