Mallowball

Mallowball, maybe you have heard of it. If you have, you are among the lucky few. I like to talk about my friends a lot, they are pretty incredible after all, and today is no exception. I have one particular friend that I think I need to focus on today, and for the sake of this post let's call him Spider man. He's a pretty great guy, I must admit. Either way, he's really easy to talk to and I have to say that I must have my most random moments with him because there has never been a time where he told me that I needed to change or be anything that I wasn't. He embraces my random nature more than most, which I must say, comes in handy. However this post isn't about how Spider man excepts my odd nature, it is about MALLOWBALL! See, because Spider man doesn't care what I say, I end up saying really random and sometimes ridiculous things. One day as we were walking together from one class we couldn't come up with anything to talk about so I just blurted out, "I wonder if marshmallows would bounce better off of each other?" Yeah, see, I told you I was odd. BUT even weirder we tested it out. We made it a game. An AWESOME game. So you reading this are getting a treat (ha it's like a pun.). So for your enjoyment here are the rules.
 Rules:

1) A match is called a Xdragonq (pronounced dragon)  

2) Each Xdragonq lasts 13 minutes 

3) There are 3 Xdragonqs 

4) If you reach 20 rainbows (or penalties) you automatically lose the game

5) The beginning of the Xdragonq you must mallow it up

See now I bet you are wondering the objective of this game....because I know I would be. The goal is to get the "mallow" into the hands of the other person by bouncing the mallow off of a field of mallows. It might now sound like much, but let me tell you, it could be an Olympic Sport one day. Watch out for it.

God Bless.

Bunny Companion

Yesterday as my boyfriend and I were driving back to his house we passed a bunny on the side of the road. It was outside of his house. This bunny seemed a little odd, it was walking around in circles in a very tiny area on the road. I let it be, but my boyfriend felt drawn to it through his vast curiosity. He walked over to it to see why it was acting in such an odd manner. He came to me and his mother and let us know that the bunny had been hit by a car. Well now I cared about the bunny. In fact now I felt drawn to the bunny. It was still alive. In fact, its whole body was in tact. However, it had been hit partially in the face and had one of it's legs run over. At most angles the bunny just looked like a bunny, but then there was that one angle, the angle where you could see the blood drip down, the angle where you could see it pain. I found out that day that you can't call the humane society for a hurt, "wild" bunny. They won't do anything for an animal that isn't endangered or really something they'll care about, like a deer. Nope, it was just a bunny. JUST a bunny. That word rings in my head. It was a living creature. It was in pain. All I wanted was to help it, but there was nothing I could do. It had obvious internal bleeding and it's time was slowly approaching. We stood on the side of the road as its breathing slowed and it rolled over on its side. Its body had given up and he was slowly faded. A police officer came and scooped him into a bag to dispose of him. He wasn't even dead. I asked them not to. Just to let him stay where he was, let me sit a little longer. But instead, he was prematurely put into his body bag and carted about. His time had come and I was crying. All for a bunny I had just met. All for a bunny I hadn't even named. It was in that moment that I named his Frank. I curled up in a ball and cried about Frank, my bunny companion, who I had only just met. He was my Frank, and he deserved more than to be carted away in a plastic garbage bag. He was more special than any endangered bald eagle and should have been treated as such. I am sorry Frank. I wish I could have done more.
God Bless.

Air Force Lullaby

I think I have been afraid. I wrote before about my boyfriend going into the Air Force. I wrote it, I was proud of it, but I was afraid of being judged for what I wrote and I deleted it out of that fear. So today I write again about the one thing that I can't get off my mind. My boyfriend decided to join the Air Force. It is a decision that haunts me. My dreams reflect it. I have gotten a lot of advice on the matter in the past couple of months. I'm not quite sure that anyone around me understands what it is that I am going through. I realize that sounds overly high school and dramatic, but in this case it really isn't. I would tell anyone before this date that I would never be with anyone in the military. It just doesn't look like an option to me. Your life is lonely. Very lonely. I would have said that I could never put up with that life. But now, hearing most of my friends and family telling me that it isn't worth it, telling me that I won't be happy, telling me that I should let him go before I get hurt, I find myself doubting decisions that I made years ago. If I leave him and this relationship that means that even when he is back for visits or making calls to friends and relatives, I won't be there and a part of it. I want to be there. I want to be part of it. Which means I have to stay with him. That means that I will be spending my Thursday nights at my church praying for him, my Friday nights with my church youth group so I can get other people to pray for him, and my Sundays as I already do, praying for him. I will spend my time thinking about him and praying for him because he won't be here. I will do all this because I wouldn't want to lose someone as smart, funny, strong, kind, handsome, silly and loving as he is. I will miss his smile and his fake Irish accent. But mostly I am going to miss the way that he squeezes my hand three times when he wants to tell me he loves me without interrupting the silence. I don't think that I write this for the world to see, but for those people in my life who want me to give up before I start spending my Thursday nights praying for him. He isn't perfect. He makes mistakes all the time, but that won't stop me from from changing my Thursday night ritual for him. God Bless.

A lie...

Places like facebook are a little bit odd. On facebook you can be anyone you want to be. You could male or female or neither . You're name could magically be Edward Cullen and your interests could include that of chasing around mystical creatures in order to turn them into you magical slaves. You could like apples and hate bananas. The world inside of the computer would never know if you were lying. You could change everything about yourself. You relationship status may say single when in reality you have a girlfriend who just happens to not have a facebook. You could make up every detail, and who would be there to stop you from saying that you religion in Pastafarian and you worship the flying spaghetti monster? No one. That is who. You could say absolutely anything. Doesn't it scare you to think that the person on the other end of the screen could be one big lie?

Drifting

I have wondered in the past what people of power feel like as they fall. The thought of Marie Antoinette comes to mind. Did she fear death? Or was she strong... To die at the guillotine is some pretty harsh treatment for a Queen. I know if death was in my midst I wouldn't be able to stop the cold rush of emptiness. I would feel alone and restless. Or maybe I would be ready, at peace. My grandfather has slowly started to drift away from us. His mind is perfectly sound, but his body remains human as it has reached its breaking point. He has of late been talking to my grandmother as if his time has come. About how wonderful his life has been. How happy and accomplished he feels. How at peace he feels. And the added comfort of encouragement for his wife. While he may feel at peace I don't think it is his time. He hasn't taken me fishing yet. He hasn't given me quite enough stories of the past. He hasn't met his quota of grandfatherly advice. It just isn't his time. Some day his time will come and God will welcome him into the gates of Heaven with open arms, but not now, not yet. It's just not his time. I think that the reason why I think that before death I would feel cold and empty is because that is how I feel when I lose someone. When your grandfather tells you that he is "ready to be planted" all you can think is.... "but there aren't any pots big enough." and hope that each day he is still by your side.

Turtles

My two best friends do yoga. They both think it is relaxing and fun and even I will admit that it is good exercise, but I am awful at yoga. I am more than awful, I have the flexibility of a turtle. (Which I can only imagine is nonexistent.) While I spent my youth in the world of sports playing everything from volleyball and baseball to basketball and softball. I did Flag football and even track and field. Yes, while my childhood was spent in these ways they were both dancers. Once again I cannot relate. I love them both. They are flexible because they dance!! Which is why yoga is an activity that they can both enjoy. While they both excelled that    their activity of choice, I was always sub-par at all of mine. I wouldn't say I am jealous of their ability to share these common joys of life, but more upset really at my inability to be able to join in. No, I really don't have an interest in yoga and the closest thing you'll see to me bending over backwards is a limp bridge, but I do wish I could just some how fit. I can't dance (not even like those slutty girls in clubs)....I just don't fit.. So what is it that really bothers me if it isn't the fact that I really don't want to do yoga... It's just that I miss that time with my friends. They will bond over the inside jokes that they make together walking in the streets downtown and I will listen and pretend as if I was there. I will laugh every time I hear them say "Tits out for the boys!" or "Your happiness makes my ass twitch." I will nod and smile as I read their not so childish children's book. I will pretend I was there for every week night dinner at the local 50's diner....I will pretend that it doesn't bother me when I miss out, because when you just don't fit in the best thing you can try to do is blend into the crowd and hope no one notices that you are just that much different..... Maybe they haven't noticed the subtle difference in our interests or maybe it doesn't bother them, but that's more likely because they aren't missing out on one story or joke after another. I guess it's okay because I think we are all just turtles. I have the flexibility of a turtle, thing 1 walks about as fast as a turtle and thing 2 eats about the same as a turtle. So at least we all have that. We can all be content being the same species.

It's...a bruise...right?

Today I went downstairs to talk to my mother. This seems like a casual thing to me, except that right in the middle of our conversation she stops and stares at my neck. Wouldn't you know it? Of course my mother notices the hicky my boyfriend planted on me before I even notice.  I think I would have less of a problem with this if I remembered it happening, but instead the little sucker came as a surprise to me (no pun intended). My boyfriends response to all this was, "Wear it with pride. ^_^ You have a boyfriend and he loves you." Wear it with pride? hmmm..... Pride is a funny thing. People tell you to have pride all the time in what you do, and yet at the same time they say it is the worst of the deadly sins. So which is it? Should I fear the wrath of the Almighty? Or should I "Wear it with pride"? It's kinda hard to have pride in a hicky when your mom is laughing at you. Yup laughing..... Maybe this whole thing is just a lesson that I should learn to laugh at myself.... and stop wearing my hair up.