Happy Birthday, Kaw Prairie!

Today was my church's very first day in our new building! We have been in elementary and high schools (and occasionally the local armory, although don't worry, we do not encourage violence) for almost five years now. I have only been a continuous attendee for the last year and a half, but my parents and I have visited intermittently throughout the years.

My church is perhaps the favorite one I've ever been a member of, and definitely one of the biggest blessings in my life right now. Pastor Dan is amazing, I love everything we're about, the openness to thoughts and questions, yet the conviction in answers given. I feel like Jesus Christ is truly our cornerstone, and I pray that God will bless our ministry forever. My good friend German, our worship director who joined us last summer, was in tears after today's service, just overwhelmed with emotion. It touched me so much, he said he is so glad to be a part of this and I told him we're so glad to have him here. Kaw Prairie is so filled with honesty, openness, intelligence, rawness, spirituality which is so important to me as well as religion, love. I feel safe there and I feel others could and do feel safe there too. Words can't describe, because it is the work of the Holy Spirit; I bring as many people as I can so they can experience it for themselves.

This really is not meant to be an advertisement for my church, but if you're interested I might as well provide the website instead of leaving you hanging: http://www.kawprairie.org/. Oh and man in picture is Pastor Dan, being hilarious during a sermon (happens often).

Les Tournesols

I just finished watching the movie Calendar Girls. I first saw it this winter, and told my parents they would love it, and just now watched it with Mom (she did love it).

Not only is this movie hilarious, I think it is brilliant, and so sweet. It is based on a true story, which makes it all the more powerful than if it were simply fictional, but even so it is a fine piece of art. Every piece of life that the story touches upon--friendship, beauty in age, death, humor, tensions with those you love the most--touches me so deeply and personally. I L-O-V-E love it. Here is my favorite line (spoken in the movie by character John Clark, who in real life is named John Baker):

"I don't think there's anything on this planet that more trumpets life than the sunflower. For me that's because of the reason behind its name. Not because it looks like the sun but because it follows the sun. During the course of the day, the head tracks the journey of the sun across the sky. A satellite dish for sunshine. Wherever light is, no matter how weak, these flowers will find it. And that's such an admirable thing. And such a lesson in life."

Val-Kim-(b)er-(l)ie/ey (or something like that)

Two girls who are rockin' my world this week? Valerie and Kimberly.

Last night Ms. Valerie called me from Texas (yeehaw!) and it was a mega awesome surprise. She said, "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to call you on the telephone, Bailey." Totally 100% forgiven (and never judged beforehand, btw). Then tonight she sent me a little demo of her amazing tunes. Check out her myspace, she is one of the best musicians I've even encountered, truly. Love her (musically and personally, duh). http://www.myspace.com/valeriecochran

Second? Kimbee. Kim and I have freaky amounts of things in common, including precious fathers, choice of college, hometown, choice of continent to be obsessed with (Africa), model of parents' car. The list just goes on, really. I mean really. Kim just returned from her romps about Chicago and we had some delicious din din and got caught up for five months of apartness. Also she is leaving for the Peace Corps, so Miss Bailey is uber sad about this, and we were soaking up each other's presence before she goes. Up there in the little right hand corner is (I'm quite positive) the cutest picture that exists of me and Kim (drink in hand is the delicious Bud Select--holla!!).

(I would put up a pic of Valerie, but as many of you know beyond this blog I am technologically, um, uninvolved, so I have no digital pictures of Valerie and the only one I have of Kim I pirated from someone else. And besides, you get an audio aid for V. And in case you're wondering, Valerie is kind of a natural model, so it's unfortunate that there is no picture of her here. Okay that's enough out of me. Night, peeps!)

Worm on the Floor

I don't know his name. Yet.

I have a regular customer who comes into Starbucks, who is rapidly approaching my top ten favorite customers list. I have discovered through conversation that he is a professor, of business related courses, I think, at a university that serves non-traditional students. He used to just come into the store by himself or with his family, but lately he meets his students there to work on projects, like he did tonight.

When my fellow baristas and I first encountered him, we were all a little put off. He came through the drive-thru and said, (I kid you not),

"I'd like a Venti iced green tea, with 90% tea, 10% water, no sweetener, and exactly 12 ice cubes."

Barista Nick used one of his famous sayings in response: "Is this guy serious right now?" So understandably we all thought he was a little high maintenance, perhaps mocking, and perhaps rude. Tonight he jokingly asked us if we were mocking him--ah, how far we've come.

The first experience with No Name Customer that really began to win my heart was on a particularly rainy day. First, he came in the store rather than through the drive-thru, so we got to experience a little more personality. We realized that while his drink order was still a little high maintenance, he was pretty funny. And he wasn't mocking us, he just has his preferences, and I think just likes to be playful. What really got me, though, was when he was leaving. He pointed to the ground near the entrance and said, totally deadpan, "Worm on the floor. Health code violation." (As you can imagine this still gets quoted by baristas on a weekly basis). I didn't believe him at first, but sure enough, due to the day's rain, someone had tracked in a (dead) worm on their shoe.

Since the worm visit, he's come into the store more and more, and he's even become more lenient with his drink order. I think he really just wants light ice, and strong, unsweetened tea. He trusts us, which I like. Some people watch us like a hawk while we make their drink, and let me just tell you right now if you're one of those people, just stop. It's ridiculous. It really is. Also, he's brought in his family, his students, and we've gotten to joke around with him and soak up the free humor he offers.

Tonight, however, he reached a new level of preciousness in my book. This past weekend I was working on my birthday, and Mr. Worm on the Floor was in our cafe working with some students. My parents' car pulled up to the store, and I was surprised to see my dad in the driver's seat because I thought he had left for the airport a few hours before. "What is he still doing here?!" I shouted. Worm on the Floor immediately put his hands up and apologized, "Oh I'm sorry, I'll leave." Well my dad came in and gave me a hug (it turned out his flight left later than I thought) and said goodbye.

So tonight I said something about my dad to my customer and he said, "I saw the hug you gave your dad, you're a Daddy's Girl." Precious, right?? Next time. I'm gettin' his name. Besties, we will be.

The Gym

I've seen this episode a hundred times. Monica: I am not smitten! Phoebe: Oh you are so much the smitten kitten. I can't help but smirk ever so slightly, because I'm a sucker for that line, but when the episode is over I click off the TV. I know it is sapping my positive energy. Mom calls us to dinner. We had a late lunch, so I am not hungry, but I eat a bit. We watch part of another episode of Friends over dinner. Again, I stay until the end of the episode, but then I head to the gym.

I don my sports bra and tank, but decide to tote along my swimsuit as well. I think some hydro resistance will be good for my mind. It is racing. Well not exactly racing, but distraught and back and forth. My best friend's family is going through a crisis, and she needs some space, which I understand, but it is hard for me to provide it, yet at the same time hard for me to run at her with open arms; I am childishly hurt by the distance, knowing I shouldn't be but am nevertheless. My mom is in town visiting, so I am not sleeping in my own bedroom nor using my own shower. The bedroom I am lodging in is a mess. I tried to start shuffling items in between Friends episode number one and dinner, to move my bones and my sludgy, negative thoughts. I need better pay, better hours, more hours. I need one book that strikes my chords, so I can finish and snuggle and meditate in it, take comfort. Small to big, you name it, I want it changed. At the library today I allowed myself only one chick flick to take home, knowing that watching kiss after kiss would not be good for my psyche.

I get to the gym and decide to swim. The lanes are full, so I pause in the hot tub. It is then that I realize how many thoughts I have had in the last hour alone. The lyrics to a song my friends Dan and Holly wrote join the rest of my thoughts. "My mind is racing, but you are keeping pace, Lord." I pray, "please quiet my thoughts." I don't ask that He make me numb, I've learned in the past that ignoring things makes them worse. I simply request rest for the evening.

A lane clears, I seize the opportunity before another buoyant body might. I swim the length of the pool only six times, with breaks between. Wow, I am less prepared for this than I thought. I take peace in the exercise, though, in the deep breaths, in the semi-stillness. I head to the steam room. I am the only one inside the dripping walls. Another man joins me. He moves to lay down in the corner he has chosen, moves and makes noises like a flopping fish. I smile to myself, not out of rudeness but thankful for the entertainment provided. He is precious. He says something like, "Excuse me? Bebe?" All I gathered from it was that he was apologizing for interrupting my steaming session. I offer a smile that says, "you're not bothering me." Another young man comes in, doesn't sit down, just stretches for a few. We can faintly hear his pump-iron iPod tunes while he communes with us. The older man begins doing sit-ups and I think, never seen that before. Hmm. Both men leave and so do I.

I consider changing clothes and walking or lifting before heading home, but decide to soak in the hot tub instead. I let my hair down, gather my things from the locker room, head for my car. My body is warm, like a glowing ember. My feet are red with heat. There is a woman walking to her car, she looks a little sad, perhaps. I look to see if there is a ring on her finger, wonder about her life, how old she is, hope that she will find love and be happy. Maybe she is just tired.

During the drive I switch the radio to the Christian station. Michael W. Smith is singing "God you reign." A second song comes on, the opening lyrics about God knowing the number of stars in the sky. I am reading a book about Abraham. God promised him descendants outnumbering the stars in the sky, and Abraham and his wife Sarah laugh at God, because they are old and barren. They each wonder and fight with God, "how do we become the parents of many nations if we have no child?!" Sarah even lets Abraham sleep with her maidservant to take matters into their own hands and attempt to create an heir. Time passes and God proves his truth by providing them with their own offspring, Isaac. I wonder about my own life, and relate.

One of my best friends is moving far away in August, another told me today he quit his job, is thinking of going back to Ohio or maybe Indiana. I laugh a little bit myself at God for the irony. I can't sit still for two minutes, have spent much of the last two years daydreaming about other places to live, yet He is asking me to be the pillar, to stand in place where I am until further notice. The adventure seeker, the girl who wants to have fish chew on her feet, has been asked to remain in Kansas. And her little cat, too. I know that God will provide the pieces to my creative future eventually, and in the meantime he provides my daily bread, just like he did for S & A. He is teaching me patience, this is becoming pretty obvious to me. Perhaps He wants me to be an example and a resting place for others, my friends running to and fro around the country and the world. A wise sage at the watering hole, available via telephone and email, who can prove that they can make it, since I've made it too. Some days it is just harder to remain at the bit and not charge ahead, is all.

I get home, turn off my engine but listen to the rest of a song. It is not until I close the garage door that I realize the other car is gone. Mom and Riley went somewhere, there is no note. I come into Riley's room to type this. I stop down the hall to give Dibbs a few finger strokes on the head. A few minutes later I realize he has relocated to recline on the floor behind me. Later he gets up to nudge the hard drive tower. Riley has a USB drive that is lit up on the end, red. Curious Dibbs moves his nose to it, and for a second he is Rudolph the Red Nosed CatBoy.

2 Gross Things You May Want to Try

First. The fish pedicure. Heard of it? These little fishy fish nibble on your feet before you get the traditional lotion/polish procedure. They chew off the dead stuff. I think that sounds AWEsome. But it seems to be hit or miss with people I discuss it with, mostly miss.

Also, I was reading Spirit Magazine (the official magazine of Southwest Airlines, one of my favorite publications) about a year ago, and there was a whole article on Korean spas. Everyone walks around completely naked (at the spa, not Southwest flight cabins), there are hot tubs, and there's this whole body exfoliating scrub that I guess hurts like craz-ee but then your skin is amazingly soft. The article was kind of written from a neutral, I-the-author-didn't-hate-it-but-you-the-reader-try-at-your-own-risk standpoint, but I was up in the air sippin' my Dr. Pepper thinking, "Let's do this!! Right now! Awkward naked vulnerability? Potentially heinous procedure with baby-butt soft results? Sounds like an adventure to me!"

I like things that are untraditional.

[Also preferably a little gross and/or messy. My freshman year of college I was squishing into my dorm room after what I believe was my third impromptu mud football game of the school year. As I pinched my towel with two fingers on my way to the shower it occured to me, "maybe my roommate doesn't always appreciate me coming into the room covered in grass and mud after my little escapades..." Our mocha syrup at Starbucks expires after 24 hours and when Brad and I do the dishes and dump the product that is no longer good, we dump it all over our arms and squish our hands in it. We have goals, and I do mean goals, to be on Ellen, to share "the mocha bath" (trademark Brad) with the world. And, ideally, with Celine as well, if we can manage to make her the musical guest that day. But we're still in the planning process.]

Where were we? Oh yes. I like things that are untraditional. As well as a little crazy, way fun, a little scary and therefore exciting, and certainly worthy of a story. One thing I know for sure about myself is that while I would never sacrifice the experience, I usually enjoy telling the story better than actually doing the activity. Except for petting my kitty, who's at my feet right now. I love to live in the moment of his purrs. Nothing beats that.

Reely, Patrick? Reely?

Today I was having one of those moments of wrestling with my own emotions, and was pretty distraught over a situation, so I called my brother Patrick. He answered the phone and I asked him if he was busy. "Busy fishing," he said.

"Oh, are you with people? Is this not a good time to talk?"

"No I'm fishing alone."

Me: "Is that safe??!"

He thought that was ridiculous and therefore hilarious. I proceeded to tell him many reasons why fishing alone could be dangerous, but he laughed it off. He has hooked his finger with a fishing lure before. Just sayin'.

Here's Patty (2nd cutie pie from the left) fishing with his friends--the SAFE way:

Not Bringin' my A Game...

I feel kind of like a bad friend lately. I feel very scatterbrained, unfocused, lacking direction. Therefore I feel like I haven't really been there for people the way I normally would or would want to.

Sorry this is depressing. Just wanted to get it off my chest, and I have to go to bed so this has to be quick.

So my apologies if I have been lacking in the humorous email department, phone calls, birthday greetings, long listening sessions (I used to specialize in those), etc. I love you guys, truly.

Tomorrow's post will hopefully not be so boring. I just know that at least 2 readers get sad when there is not a new post.

'Cuz now it's time for the Birthday Rap!

Today's my birthday.

Thank you, thank you. :)

Well as you may have (hopefully) noticed, I blundered yesterday and forgot to post. But you will have to excuse me, because I was celebrating Birthday #1, aka Fake Birthday. So far it seems Fake Birthday went better than Real Birthday (although Real Birthday has been fine, honestly, I am blessed and aware of my blessings).

Fake Birthday (to review, Fake Birthday=yesterday) went as follows. Early alarm, sleepy girl, but all this was quickly shrugged off, because I had volunteered to wake up to an alarm to get RILEY FRANCIS, baby bro extraordinaire from the airport, i.e. my birthday present!!!! On the way home from the airport Riley and I had near panic attacks as we stacked more and more miles on the trip odometer and couldn't find a gas station. 310 miles when we pulled up to the pump, usually I refill at 270. Just saying. Then lunch with parents, grocery shopping for party, chores, blah blah blah, then friends and fam at my house for BBQ, cake, and general carrying on. A fine time had by all.

Real birthday (today). Earlier alarm than day before, after late night (see "general carrying on" above), due to early work schedule. Yes, that's right, I had to work, on my birthday, on a Saturday. "Yeah...I'm gonna need you to come in on Saturday..." It honestly wasn't that bad, but there goes the day, ya know? So then I get home and Riley and Mom and I decide to go get pizza and hit up a movie. Well after pizza Ri decides to ditch us (it's okay, he's forgiven), so Mom and I go to the movie, just the two of us.

We went to see Is Anybody There? with Michael Caine. Now, Mom and I both agreed it was a good movie, and Mom said she would recommend it to others, and I wouldn't say it necessarily has a bad ending, but let's just say I was a little unsettled. Now don't worry, I'm not going to ruin the ending for you, but there are just a lot of layers and a lot of emotion throughout the film, and I was very tense during the whole thing because I never knew what was going to happen. So whenever I see a film like that I think, "this better have a good ending or Girlfriend's gonna be mad." (Seven Pounds? Don't even get me started.)

I took an Intro to Theater class my freshman year of college and I remember we learned that Aristotle said that for the theatrical viewer, a play is a form of catharsis. You watch the actors go through a range of emotions, you feel the happiness/sadness/disgust/rage alongside them, and at the end, you are purged. Or something like that--whatever, I didn't write a dissertation on the man. Well Stotty was right tonight. So about ten minutes before the end of the film, there is an obvious scene where you feel, "this is the height, I should grab the tissues now." And you certainly have tears brimming on the lids. But then the scene is over, and ten minutes later the whole movie is over! There's closure (okay so maybe I lied, I realize I am ruining this for you, but I'm only ruining the concept, not the details), but you still feel "I didn't get my chance to cry! You made the scene too short, dammit!"

So then credits roll, Mom starts laughing and apologizing for bringing me to such a depressing movie on my birthday and I say, "that's okay, it was good, but now I need to cry!" And people are wanting to get out of our row, so I am in the aisle, hugging Mom, overwhelmed with unexpected emotion, not quite sobbing, but almost choking because I am so caught offguard by my own tears, arising too quickly for my slower awareness of them.

Anyway. It was a good film. View at your own risk. I wouldn't recommend going on your birthday. But this blog is getting long and I'm not done yet. So THEN, we get home, and somehow I manage to get these tiny tiny but MEGA painful splinters in my hand! Where did those come from??? So whatev, I'm thinking, "work, sad movie, splinters...." But I did have a profound thought as I was picking at my hand with a needle and tweezers, which inspired me to write this, and here it is.

So the difference between splinters and other injuries, bodily nuisances--bruises, scabs, sore muscles--is that you have to deal with a splinter right away. I would say I'm a big fan of instant gratification, but the emphasis there is on gratify. If it's a fun activity, I want to do it right away. If it's not so fun? The word "later" is one I've used probably more than most in my life, right up there with "precious," "holla," "Brad said," "Dibby Wibby," etc. But a splinter? Gotta deal with it. Birthday or no birthday, be it fake or Round Two, you've gotta stop what you're doing, and keep stabbing at the little punk embedded in your skin until it's out. Nothing else comes first. This is a hard concept for me, but one I continue to slowly learn nonetheless. I realize that grass needs to be mowed, bills need to be paid, doctor's appointments need to be made, before I watch America's Next Top Model, or read a whole book, or eat Laffy Taffy and whisper sweet nothings to the cat. Ahh, the first lesson of my twenty-fifth year. Thanks, God. Appreciate it. Thanks for 24 great years, an amazing family, all the people who love me and teach me lessons, kitties, and all your other blessings, day in and day out. All glory truly is to You.

Friends!

Hey Chillins',

Today's post is gonna be quick, but happy to see I've got some new followers!! Here's to Deanna and German, holla!!

The Mitsubishi Abyss

I predict that 7% of you will reconsider being my friend after reading this. I just cleaned out my car, and here are the tallies of what I found:

18 pieces of mail (1 piece not mine)

15 cds

11 socks (note the uneven number)

10 used napkins or tissues

9 gum wrappers

6 receipts

4 pairs of shoes (1 pair not mine)

4 pens

3 of each of the following: straws, Starbucks cups, free literature brochures

2 of each of the following: coffee travel mugs, issues of the NY Times, sweatshirts, tissue packs, pieces of tape on the back windshield (that, um, remain from my temporary license plate from when I bought my car 2 years ago)

AND the following miscellanea: 1 pair of broken sunglasses, a drawing of me as a Muppet from Brad, a spoon, water bottle, 1 penny, book, hat, Cat in the Hat doll, a crust of bread (I am not making this up), cup, piece of paper, ice scraper, Mom's coat, McDonald's bag full of trash, A LOAF OF BREAD, an almost empty bag of Cheetos, a Coke can, an empty bagel bag, a piece of paper that says "I [heart] U" that I gave to Brad and he gave back--jerk, a hair elastic, a cough drop wrapper, a yogurt container top, a pound of coffee (Italian roast), a Dora sticker, an empty grocery sack, and my dentist goodie bag (i.e., new toothbrush, floss, paste)

For those of you who were brave enough to finish reading this, please still be my friend! Don't judge a girl by her Lancer!

Two. More. Days!!!!!!!!!

All of his stuff is here (M & D brought it home today). But he is not.

In 48 hours...we will have the Reggers back.

Riley!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Travel safely, bro bro, can't wait!!

Six Times Four

So this weekend is my 24th birthday. A month or two ago I was organizing a cabinet, and came across a package of birthday candles, unopened. Number of candles in the package? 24. Holla! Which has me wondering, what are some other things that come in nice packages of 24, or maybe should come in packages of 24....(this might be a boring and/or short list, this is an experiment, be forewarned)

-crayons (duh)

-beer, Coke/Dr. Pepper (if you're not a lush you know that obvi these items usually come in 12 packs, but if you know where to look you can find the big packs)

-hours in a day

-2 bakers' dozens of donuts (minus the 2 you eat in the car)

-24 Hour Fitness, my gym!!

-24 days in December to get pumped for Christmas before the actual day (also, 24 days to eat cookies, drink hot chocolate, and watch Christmas movies without being too harshly judged by others)

things that maybe should come in 24's:

-cats

-cute men (i.e., 24 men walking into Starbucks at once, I'd be okay with that. I was just watching the Bachelorette at the gym, and this chick got 25 men at once--that's quite a gig)

-hours in a work week (with 40-hour a week pay)

-PICKLES ON JUST ONE SANDWICH (for those of you not in the loop, NO I am not prego, but YES I am currently obsessed with pickles)

-cd's given to me on my upcoming birthday

-dollars in my pocket

-hugs received per day

-positive comments spoken aloud by one's coworkers during each shift

-days of an average out-of-state vacation

What do you think should come in 24?

Supervision

Today's post involves my friend Karl. Karl is a fellow barista of mine, and he's fantastic and precious. Now I know that perhaps I overuse the term "precious," but really if there's one word to sum up Karl and/or his family, it is "precious."

Karl reminds me a lot of my baby bro, Riley. They are both the babies of their families, very smart, interested in literature, bright eyed and bushy tailed, musically inclined, hang out with cute, smart girlfriends, etc. etc. Both of them are just downright pleasant and fun to be around. Karl graduated from high school this weekend, and today I attended his graduation party.

Now. Karl's family. Karl's dad (Eric)? Pastor. My dad? Pastor. Eric comes into Starbucks just about every other day, at least, always pleasant, kind, but certainly with a vein of sarcasm in him--today when I said I needed to use his bathroom, he said "we don't have one." Then upon entering their bathroom (because for those of you who don't pick up on sarcasm very well, they do in fact have a bathroom), I was pleased to find a vintage South Shore Line train poster featuring the Lake Michigan Dunes, holla!! But I digress. Recap: Eric. Sweet. Loving. Nonjudgmental, Jesus mentor, coffee lover, sense of humor. Loves all baristas.

BONNIE. Wow, Bonnie (Karl's mom). Sweet beyond sweet. Seasoned culinary artist. Published author. Ray of sunshine. Sweet. Pea. Bonnie.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting another member of the Karl family. G'pa. That's right. Bonnie's daddy.

Picture with me this: A van pulls up to Starbucks (I was working, behind the counter, to help you visualize your perspective here). Woman driving (presumably Bonnie), older gentleman exits the passenger door, plaid jacket, i.e. his Sunday usual (I assume, and for the sake of this story we're going to assume this is the case because it's better that way). Van drives away (this is an important detail, take notes). Older man saunters in, heads directly to the newspaper sale rack. Eyes the local publication, gives it a little sneer, says quietly, "they said you guys would have the New York Times," and returns it to the top of the stack. He shifts his attention to the excessive coffee menu above my head, and I divert the man's attention back to the paper. "Are you looking for the NY Times?" I ask. "What?" He didn't hear me. ... I explain that we usually sell out pretty quickly on Sunday mornings, and that we are probably out. He is hardly listening, he's over it. He wants to talk coffee. "What's the difference between a mocha and a latte?" I explain. He has trouble hearing me, we take our time getting to our decision. He decides on a latte. I ask if he would like any syrup, vanilla, hazelnut. "What do you like?" he asks. I set him up with a traditional latte, sans syrup.

"Do you guys know Karl?"

"Yes, we love Karl!"

"I'm his grandpa."

"HI!!!!!!!"

Precious man sits with latte and inferior local paper, girl baristas whisper about his cuteness. Approximately 15 minutes pass. Old man gets up to leave. Gives some sort of "holla" goodbye greeting. Okay, so he didn't say "holla," but I wish. More excited chattering about the cuteness. (It is at this point that I stop and wonder, "how is he going to get home? I didn't see the van come back to retrieve him. Hmm...")

...Time passes, frappuccinos are made, business as usual. In walks Eric. Uh oh. Where's grandpa? Eric asks, "Is Karl's grandpa still here?" (He actually said that. "Is Karl's grandpa here." Not, "is my father in law here?") Uh oh. We're in trouble. We didn't watch him!!! "No..." my voice trails off. Eric considers this, turns to leave. This is odd, Eric never comes in just to say hi, unless he is picking up Karl from work (go ahead and say it: "awww").

"Did you lose Grandpa?" I ask.

This is the BEST part of the story, pay attention.

Eric looks at me, his face so hard to read I have no idea what's about to come out of his mouth. It was part dad, part pastor, part customer-who-loves-all-his-son's-coworkers, part silly, and part Bailey's-a-little-bit-terrified-of-Eric-right-now-and-she-doesn't-know-what-to-do-with-that-because-she-never-thought-she'd-feel-that-way. After cocking his chin in towards his neck, at an angle, with a father-to-daughter, "Bailey, you know you shouldn't steal cookies from the cookie jar" look towards me, he says,

"Did you lose Grandpa?"

For a split second I honestly thought I was in trouble (kind of like the way I thought maybe there wasn't a bathroom in his home. Just kidding! Man, you people who can't read sarcasm are so easy!). "I just let grandpa walk out of the store, I knew I didn't see the van outside, I should have made sure he knew the way home!" When Eric laughed, I became relieved, but let's be honest. I wasn't entirely sure Grandpa was okay until I saw him later at Karl's graduation party, in his precious cardigan, holding a glass coffee mug in his aged, wise hands, not a care in the world.

La Belle et La Bete

So you know you might be just a little bit anxious for love when you're watching Beauty and the Beast and reacting as if these were real people, hugging yourself tightly, wishing the Beast was yours. (Brad and Lynn, don't be mad I watched it without you, I'll watch it again in a second!!)

As I sat down to write this post, I was planning on writing about beer (my apologies for those who were excited for that story), but then the song "Wait for Me" by Rebecca St. James came on my Windows Media Player (NOT i-Tunes) shuffle. The song is about the man who she hasn't met, but who she will end up with.

"Darling, did you know that I

I dream about you

Waiting for the look in your eyes

When we meet for the first time

And darling, did you know that I

I pray about you

Praying that you will hold on

And keep your loving eyes only for me

'Cause I am waiting for, praying for you darling

Wait for me too"

Not only is this such a unique concept (I mean, we all fantasize about our unmet, future mates, but to almost have a conversation with him or her before meeting is so different), the song is rather delicious musically. Check it out, my friends, and give me a holla if you want to talk about people we haven't met but whom we'd like to make out with (celebrities can be included in this list). If you're desperate for love like me, fight the good fight, hold on to that charm, read good books and fill your mind with good things, vent your frustrations, keep helping others, hug those around you, and he or she will come along.

Love,

Bails

[I love Alicia] Keys

Today at work I was sharing my locked-out-of-my-car story with everyone, and Nick said, "isn't it amazing how such a small object can have so much control over us?"


Profound, Nick. I love it.

Le Sigh...the mistakes I sometimes make...

Remember when I locked my keys in my car, while it was still running? Yeah, unfortunately so do I.

Thankfully, my (brand new) dear friend John, barista at the Starbucks where I parked, let me use the store phone for as long as I needed, called his brother who was a locksmith, and gave me my drink and petite vanilla bean scones (mmmmmm) for free.

I put all the cash I had in his tip jar.

Thank you, John, for all your help today. At Starbucks, we give out "MUG" Awards (for Moves of Uncommon Greatness). John, I don't have a MUG award on me, but here is a picture of a Starbucks mug that I found on a google image search--we'll call that good enough for now.*

*And Brad, you always get a MUG award from me, for being my favorite barista, and my bestie.

Bad Mood Bailey

Today is a day off for me. While I L-O-V-E love days off, I never quite know what to do with myself when I have one. Today my parents are in town visiting, but they left to run errands, so I lost my potential playmates for the day. I have plans for this evening (to see author Tobias Wolff!!), but only one plan before that, which was no fun at all: a dentist appointment.

I was driving to my dentist appointment, thinking, "I am grumpy! I don't want to go to the dentist on my day off." Then I got there, and aside from the good news that I have no cavities, I just wanted to be left alone. The hygienist, bless her heart, was so sweet, and trying to make conversation--about books, even, and I love books--but I just wasn't havin' it. Then the dentist and the patient next to me were having the most syrupy sweet, pretentious, pleasant conversation (okay, it was very genuine and kind, I just didn't want to hear it), and I refrained from rolling my eyes.

So following the appointment, I decided to get some coffee at Borders and look around. I found a book on sale written by Isabella Bird, who I did a project on in fourth grade, and another little bound beauty, narrated by a girl with whom I think I will become a fast friend. Her name is Judy. Judy Moody, to be exact. Title of the book?:

Judy Moody was in a mood. Not a good mood. A bad mood.

I couldn't relate more. In Chapter One, Judy embraces her bad mood and sarcastically writes "I ATE A SHARK" on her t-shirt. In Chapter Two, she meets her new teacher, Mr. Todd. "'Hello, Mr. Toad,' said Judy. She cracked herself up" (This particular line made me think of Brad). Needless to say, I think we can all look forward to future readings of Judy Moody on The Daily Bailey.

Parking Lot Chit Chat

This morning at 5am, my manager Karen and I were walking into the store, and she says,

"My kids got me a turtle for Mothers' Day."

Me: "Awesome!!!"

Karen: "I know. Grandpa made the kids take it down to the crick to let it go. I was pissed."

One more reason why I love this woman.

Mamacita

I'm not sure if my favorite memory of my mother will ever be replaced by a better one. She continues to be an amazing mom, no doubt, but this memory will always be just a breath away.

When we were kids, after our baths, one at a time she would wrap us in our towels, put down the toilet seat lid, and sit down with us in her lap. She would wrap her arms around us to clip our finger and toenails. Being so close there was no need for loud voices, so we would talk quietly to each other. I was literally completely enveloped in Mom during those moments, which is all anyone can ever ask for.

I love you, Mom. Happy Mothers' Day.

The Silver Bullet

This week I was at a stoplight, looked in my rear view mirror (which I do all the time, by the way, curious about the people behind me, especially cute boys), and I saw it. A Previa. Oh, dear Previa, how I love thee.

I looked at the woman driving it, by herself, probably on her way to fill up the back seats with kids getting out of school. I thought, "she might be thinking, 'this car is pretty old, I wish we could afford to buy a new SUV...'" And I thought, "if only she knew how jealous I am right now..."

I loved our Previa. It was our car for over 10 years. We put over 200,000 miles on that baby, and it still had the best pick up of any of our newer cars. When I was a kid and had a bowl cut, my family used to make fun of the fact that the car's shape matched my hair style. Many a drive in that car, long road trips to grandparents' homes, short trips to and from day care, the grocery store, church, everywhere. My senior year in high school I drove that sucker, and when the steering wheel went as far as it could go it would squeal, causing my friends to turn and say, "Nice car, Bailey." Never cared. My love was too deep. When I was a social work intern, I went on home visits with one of the case managers, and we would ride in his Previa, and I told him how happy it made me, took me back.

The day we got rid of it, I wasn't aware of the trade-in. I knew we had talked about it, it was somewhere in the near future, though I liked to ignore the "near" portion of that fact. Sure, the A/C had gone out more than a year before, the sliding side door was unusable. But did I mention the pickup?! You tapped this gas and you were flyin'! I was home for the summer, and I came home from my job, and what had been in the driveway that morning was no longer there.

"Dad, where's the Previa? Did it go on a playdate with another 1991 model?"

...Long pause....

Gasp! "No!"

I assume my parents didn't tell me so as to soften the blow. When Mr. Rogers died, my Mom didn't tell me until the end of the school day. "Dad and I were afraid it would ruin your day," she said. How well they know me, those two.

I know I do a lot of tributes on this blog, and you're probably rolling your eyes, but who doesn't have a family car that still tugs at their heart? I love you, Prev. We all miss you. We always will.

My Boy Toy

You know how there are people in your past that you mostly forget about, but occasional they pop into your head and you think, "They were AWESOME!!"?

I just did this with my good pal LAMPY. Yes, Lampy from The Brave Little Toaster. Good movie, folks. I loved Lampy. And let me just say that everyone seemed to love Blanky. You know what I thought of Blanky? Boring!! Lampy? Hilarious!

Same thing goes for Grover vs. Elmo in my book. Elmo? Precious, cute, giggles a lot. But Grover? Funny. Original. Scared of himself (i.e., the monster on the next page), therefore a little bit dim-witted. And you know who else was not the brightest? Lampy. But who doesn't love Lampy? Oh man, I used to watch that movie and just crack up at Lampy. I used to want a Lampy poster for my bedroom.

If I could find a Lampy t-shirt, I would probably just hug it for a day before I could actually put it on. Here's to you, Lampy. Here's to you.

18th Century Hottie McDotties, Part II

Today at work I made my coworkers quite uncomfortable by revealing my George Washington crush. Katie kept trying to change the subject every time I brought it up (see, I told you it was a bad idea to share it with people).

But then, Matt asked me, "Bailey you know how to play piano, right?"

"No," I said.

"Oh, you seem like you would."

"Oh yeah, why?"

"I don't know, you like George Washington..."

Love it.

Good night, friends. Until tomorrow!

18th Century Hottie McDotties

Today I got my haircut, and my stylist Jeni, who's been cutting my hair for 6 years, decided to entertain herself and curl my hair. She got me lookin' super cute, and we had been talking so she knew I was going to the library to write a paper. I joked, "maybe I'll meet some hottie in the biography section," and she said, "you never know where you're gonna meet them..."

I did in fact only go to the library (with a quick stop at work on the way), so I really was dressed up with no place to go. I was working on my final paper for my US History class. This semester, during some of our lectures I've been looking at the pictures and thinking, "George Washington was pretty handsome..." and then immediately wondering, "Should I maybe not share that thought with other people?"

So maybe, just maybe, those hottie founding fathers were checking me out through the pages of my textbook at the library today. Thinking, "man, if I were just a couple hundred years younger..."

Green

Today as I was leaving work I told Brad that I was going to mow my lawn and what did he do? He laughed. He immediately did an impression of me mowing the lawn, in which the lawn mower took control of me.

Then he told me how he's never mowed his lawn. I mentioned that I needed to put gas in the mower and he said, "like from the gas station?"

I did mow the lawn, during which I had multiple adventures. One of the wheels decided to bust, and only move when it wanted to. The plastic piece attached to it cracked, and wet pieces of grass were lodging themselves between it and the wheel, stifling movement. I went to the garage and grabbed the first tool I could find (a spade, I think) to dig out some of the grass. It looked like frozen spinach, which I don't like, by the way. So every few strokes, I had to kill the motor, dig out some spinach, and continue on. I also kept running into low tree branches, from which pollen would fall on me, causing me to think, "oh great. This is good for my allergies."

Also, my neighbor slowed his car down, and I realized he wanted to talk to me, so I killed the motor for about the 10th time. His dog was in the passenger seat and he (my neighbor, not his dog) said, "I saw you looking at Mac the other day in the window [I was looking at Mac, he's cute], so I thought you'd like to meet him." Precious. So moral of the story: mow your lawn, and you'll meet cute puppy dogs.

Indecisive

I was grocery shopping with my mom a few months ago and she asked if she should pick out some yogurt flavors for me.

I said, "I don't like yogurt until further notice."

She thought it was pretty funny. I guess it was, but it was also the truth. I'm a big fan of the truth. And I'm only occasionally a fan of yogurt (I did eat some about an hour ago).

Prayer

About two years ago, when I was going through a rough, anxious patch of life, I started praying in the mornings. Not in a pious, sit-down-with-my-devotional-book way, just a quick breath, usually asking God to "go with me today." This morning the following came to me:

"Guide my heart, guide my hands."

Free Willy?

So Nick sent me another email today, with various thoughts and things to tell me. He concluded his email with the following:

"Killer whales is my theme for the day."

Anyone who can begin to offer me any sort of explanation for this, please comment below.

I don't think I ever have a theme for my days, and if I did I'm not sure how I would carry it out. Thanks, Nick, for reminding us that we don't have all the answers to life's questions.

Good with Words

Last night I sent Nicholas an email that said "Nick, there are a lot of troubled people in my life. I have a lot to worry about."

Today he wrote back saying, "I am sorry about the troubled people. Life certainly isn't perfect, but these people are probably really lucky to have you in their life. I know I am."

And you know what happens when you say things like that? A blog post is dedicated to you.

Thanks, Nicholas. Love you.

Here's Nick: