Mildly weird

I've -- somewhat -- stopped participating in the task of licking the foil yogurt lid before proceeding to eat the rest of my yogurt.

For whatever reason I've felt obligated to do this for many years.

Although admittedly I just licked a lid moments ago. I haven't fully licked the habit/urge/obligation to do so.

The yogurt I'm currently eating is the kind you stir mini M&M's into. I am five.

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Tomorrow is my mandatory writing day for the month.

What does that mean, exactly?

Well it means that while I may likely take breaks to clean, make snacks, take a shower, smooch on Kitty Face, etc., it is my job to sit on my butt and write more or less continually throughout more or less the whole day.

Though I am sleeping tomorrow and waking up sans alarm. Girlfriend is tired. (Although I'm actually in pretty good shape, because I slept for approx. 10 hours last night).

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I dropped my ballet class.

I love ballet.

And I loved my teacher.

And I met two potential new besties on my first day of class.

But it was a three hour class that took up a whole evening each week, and I just wasn't feeling it. The timing was not great for my life right now.

And my energy for writing has been really up lately, and I LOVE that and want to keep that enthusiasm focused and pumping. So I decided to drop. Sometimes I love being an adult, allowed to make my own adult decisions.

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I'm going on a hike this weekend! I'm super excited.

I really enjoy the feeling of walking uphill.

Is that super weird?

Just mildly weird?

I like the steady rhythm of heavier breathing. I like the feeling of ascension -- it's probably literally psychologically effective in lifting one's affect, eh?

I like it. I'm looking forward to it. I believe we have a 7-miler on the menu. The last time we did a hike that long, it was tough, it was great, it was long. We finished by flashlight, and then gorged on bar food and happy hour Bud Lights. I'm excited for Round Two.

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I just watched "Almost Famous" for the first time last weekend.

I. Loved. It.

Frances McDormand? FAB. FAB. FAB.

I watched it in my jeans on the couch, and someone I care about made me a burger with peppers and onions on top. I drank a Dr. Pepper and ate vegetables and delighted in the culinary and cinematic tastiness and the delovely company.

I actually found myself thinking, amidst the crazy plot, that this could actually happen. Yes, a 15-year-old kid could fool Rolling Stone magazine and convince his mother -- I mean, if his mother were Frances McDormand -- to let him skip school and travel with groupies and then write a national cover story.

Sure, I haven't written a cover story, with my master's in journalism, but sure. It could happen to William Miller.

Sure.

For a movie to beat through my cynical exterior and get me to just dopily accept its farfetched frameworks -- well, it's saying something. (That said, I've always loved movies like "Big" and "The Lake House," which stand on farfetchedness as their base. So...)

Though I just had to comment on the presence of a woman in a lead editorial position at Rolling Stone in the 70s. Um, I'm skeptical. Cheering for it. But skeptical.

The precious person who made me the burger told me to just enjoy the movie. But c'mon.

Also I want to be Penny Lane (or Mary Poppins (unrelated)) for Halloween.

*Also, finally, I have to give myself a hearty clap on the back for finding this movie via my own defeat over technology. By my very own self, I was able to find Netflix on someone else's TV. I braved the scary remote controls and the various "inputs" and the 21st century madness.

And there was Success.

This is big, People.

Big.

I still don't have texting, though.

Things I didn't plan

Two months ago I had no idea.

I went to church (I think), then to Rite Aid where I bought things for the White Elephant gift exchange to be held at work the next day.

I was tired and not feeling well, so I spent the afternoon being lazy.

The next day, December 15, I attended the gift exchange. I sang karaoke -- something I didn't see coming. I got overly, vocally excited about karaoke that was about to happen at the office (because really, how often does that happen??), and then our HR director called me to the front of the conference room to participate.

"I'm being harassed by the HR director!" I yelled.

I sheepishly made my way to the front, sporting my Santa apron -- because duh.

I started singing with one of my coworkers, who's a professionally trained singer. That lasted for about a bar.

And then I took the microphone out of her hands.

I sang "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer." I sang "My Favorite Things," which I'm not sure why it's considered a Christmas song, but I love it so I enjoyed the excuse to sing it. Also that was terrible grammar in that last sentence, but I'm leaving it.

The karaoke was unexpected. And it was fun.

That night I had a date. It wasn't blind, as I had met the guy -- and as he will tell you, I eyed him across the dance floor in a not-so-subtle way on the night we (officially) met (re: the "officially" -- another story).

I knew he was fun. I knew he could dance. He asked me out, which I appreciate, so I agreed to grab a drink.

But I had no idea.

After my karaoke session, I went home and changed out of my Santa apron and put on a sweater dress and some boots.

I tweeted something about wanting to stay home with the cat -- I had a headache, and I've been on a lot of meh dates -- and mentioned that this was why I was still alone.

I kissed the cat goodbye.

And around 7:15, my dancing pal walked into the bar. Around 7:18, he asked if he could buy me a drink.

By 7:30, he had probably asked me 10 questions about myself.

And by 10:30, I was like, "Who is this guy?!"

Here's to unexpected things.

Though his Valentine's gift to me is a t-shirt that reads, "My cat is my valentine" (because "It's true," he says), I assured him that he's my valentine.

Last night he told me our two months of dating feels more like six months to him. I love that.

I feel like I've known him for a long time.

Two months ago I had no idea.

I'm glad I grabbed the karaoke microphone. And I'm so glad I went out for that drink.

Manual labor -- received!

Remember when I wrote about need-wanting a desk, and needing help to lift it to my apartment?

Well raise your blogging spirit fingers if you received a desk for free, and the manual labor to go with it!

Annnnnnnd if you now have a big girl bed, and can slide into your 30th birthday without sleeping on a futon!

[Spirit fingers wagging]

It all started with a phone call on Friday afternoon; a friend of a friend was getting rid of a box spring.

Suggestion from friend: get the box spring and place futon mattress on top of box spring.

Hurdle: need to rent a truck or van to move said box spring across busy city with lots of traffic.

Positive: friend willing to help move box spring and ride through adventurous city traffic with me.

My sweet friend Laura is in town, and I got home from work on Friday and told her that, despite our plans to gorge on sushi for the evening's run, we may instead need to move a box spring.

Laura was all over this plan immediately. My focus was to crack open my "It's Friday after 5" Michelob Ultra, but Laura's shifty eyes starting ogling all of my personal belongings and she requested paper so she could start blueprinting our massive redecoration of my teeny tiny apartment.

We rearranged, making room for the bed. We took turns vacuuming. The cat took shelter.

At some point we got the word that a mattress and a desk would be thrown into the mix, so we reconvened around the blueprint on spiral notebook paper.

I put things on shelves.

Laura came behind me and rearranged them in a more feng shui manner. I trust her.

I got distracted by Facebook. Laura remained focused. When we left for sushi (we also learned that we wouldn't have to move anything until Sunday, so dinner plans were not cancelled), she insisted we grab my overflowing recycling and take it downstairs.

She'd be a great roommate. "Bailey, pay your bills! Bailey, do your taxes! Clean your room!" I'd be so on top of everything.

And she makes me laugh, which is a bonus.

I got hungry, and begged for a break, so we drove to sushi, which took a while, so we were extra hungry and extra excited for the food:

Then, in our zestful state, we over-ordered and ate way too much:

We slept it off and the next day we went to California Adventure, had a lovely time, and met Anna and Elsa!

Then, the next day (are you tired yet?), we rented a van and Bailey drove the giant hunk of metal on LA freeways and went over an unmentioned number of curbs, and Laura and I laughed. And I may have caused her to be frightened for her life.

But we made it!

And that's the story of how I acquired a new bed and desk (the former of which the cat meister is obsessed with). High up, cushy places, I tell ya. Cat heaven.

And finally, Laura, being her true go-getter self, completely arranged my apartment, made the bed, assembled the desk, etc. in the time it took me and another to return the van to the rental place.

And the place looks great. I essentially got a new apartment. But got to keep the cat, which was a huge bonus.

Needless to say, I thanked my moving helpers with a Thai dinner. Mmm.

Notes, moods

I am hyper beyond hyper today.

Not in a good way. As a hilarious coworker of mine says, I need to be peeled off the ceiling. She's all keyed up today, too, and we joked about the image of us outside climbing trees to wear off our energy and anxiety.

This imagined tree climbing involved the petting of parrots, too, in case you're interested.

I hate feeling this way. More and more these days, thank God, I feel even keel, but sometimes I have a venti coffee and...yeeps.

I used to go back and forth -- and I probably still will -- between wondering which thing is worse: anxiety or depression. I feel like anxiety can be more persistent, but depression is more powerful and nearly impossible to shake.

It's kind of like deciding which is worse: being too hot or too cold (answer: being too hot is far superior, hence the living in California thing).

["Joey said 'hence.'"]

***

My friend Laura is in town, and I'm super excited. We reunited last year at this same time, after nearly seven years apart. We met in Vegas and picked up right where we left off.

Prior to my trip, some people asked me, "Won't that be a little awkward, after all that time?"

Answer: no.

This year we're going to California Adventure (part of the Disneyland resort), then to the Grand Canyon next weekend, by way of Vegas.

Sushi's on the menu for dinner tonight, and I might show her a cliche area of LA, like Hollywood or Santa Monica.

It sounds like we're dating. :)

***

Afternoon update: no longer hyper. Now I've got that bloodshot eye, super tired, want coffee but think it will make me anxious thing going on.

Jealous?

The people who read this blog must really enjoy riding out my mood swings with me, because I feel like that accounts for about 65% of the content. A remaining 25% is about the cat. So maybe all my readers are just moody cat lovers?

***

I'm planning out several tunes for our Grand Canyon road trip. So far I'm thinking: Celine (duh), Tegan and Sara, Taylor, Rachael Yamagata, Sara Bareilles.

I could add in some male voices, but Laura and I love to sing along, so it's nice to have female singers at hand, ya know?

In fact, my CDs are divided by several categories, including male and female voices. The females have their own book -- quite a few lady crooners in my collection. Because female singers are great!

And yes I still buy CDs.

***

Max cat was a little chirperton this morning! I think he's excited by another person in our space. I yuv him so much.

***

OK I'll leave y'all alone now. Smooches!

Request for manual labor

I don't have a desk for several reasons.

1. The desk I have my eye on at Target will require the lifting assistance of another person, and I need to coordinate this.
2. I am not the most organized. (See #1.)
3. The desk I have my eye on is approx. $100, and Mama needs to pay off her Hawaii flight currently hanging out on the credit card.
4. I enjoy sitting with terrible posture, butt cushioned, as I type on my laptop atop the futon. Why move to a chair?
5. I live in a studio apartment. Space is limited.

However, I have some things that would/will sit on my desk, should/when I ever coordinate that assistance in lifting and get the sucker upstairs to my apartment. Below is what those things are, and why they will sit there.

(If I had an iPhone, and a desk already assembled, and an Instagram account, this would be a "Here's a picture of all the things on my desk, and what each of them means" post. But it's not.)

1. An Oscar the Grouch figurine.

This is to remind myself to write garbage. Not as, like, an overarching goal, but as a means to an end. I recently wrote about this concept after a discussion of writer's block (ugh) with my friend Stephen, but in sum, the idea is to remind myself to write garbage and slog through those days when I can't think of anything "good" to write, until I finally get to a day or moment when some good ideas start slipping through the cracks.

2. A strand of beads.

This is to remind me of this quote: "I learned that you should feel when writing, not like Lord Byron on a mountain top, but like a child stringing beads in kindergarten -- happy, absorbed and quietly putting one bead on after another." -- Brenda Ueland

3. A photo of Robin Williams.

This is to remind me to write about mental health. When people ask me what I write about, I answer: "Faith, family, and mental health." As you can imagine, it is received with strange looks. But those are my topics. Take 'em or leave 'em. (Please take them).

As any of you who have talked to me enough or read enough of this blog can attest to, I care very much about the sound mental health of people in this world, and I very much believe that the more we talk about it, the less of a problem we will have with poor mental health. After Mr. Williams' unfortunate death last year, I put a picture of him in a frame to remind me that I have felt called to do few things, but included in them are to write and to write specifically about mental health.

4. A miniature something (maybe a Lego person?).

This is to remind me of Anne Lamott's advice to write short, or small, assignments. She keeps a one-inch picture frame on her desk to remind her of this, but since I've got Robin in a frame, I figure to keep things unique I should put something else that's small on my desk as my own reminder.

Ooh, I have a teeny weeny jam jar that I pocketed from a restaurant (was that bad?) after I used the jam, which is currently holding bobbi pins, but perhaps I could repurpose it.

Or, I could keep the pins in it, move it to the desk, and then conveniently have something to keep flyaway hairs in place, because as we know, annoying hair in the face while writing is, well, annoying.

5. A laurel leaf, or something representing laurels. Maybe a eucalyptus sprig?

I saw a sign online -- but couldn't figure out how to buy one -- that said "No resting on laurels," so if I can swing that purchase, I'm on it.

This is to remind me -- you guessed it -- not to rest on my laurels. Not that publishers are throwing book contracts at me or anything, but we all have our little victories now and then, but that ai'nt no excuse to quit truckin'.

6. Some sort of tiny, cutesy hat. (If you can't tell from items 4 - 6, I need to do some shopping).

This is to remind me to put my hat in the ring. If I have contacts for freelance gigs, even if those gigs aren't too exciting, I should aim to do them. Why? Because they keep me published. Relevant. Keeps the resume up to date. All that jazz.

And I shouldn't have my nose so high in the air that I will only wait for jobs that are "good enough" for me.

Also, because contrary to what that previous sentence might imply, I don't actually have tons and tons of work opportunities coming at me, so the only way to get jobs is to let people know I'm interested. The only way to potentially win a writing contest is to submit a piece. I may not win, but I definitely won't win if I submit nothing.

So there you have it. Who wants to help me lift a desk? Dibs on putting it together, though, because I love building stuff!