The Amazing in The Ordinary

I've decided to try and surround myself with interesting people.

 

I don't need anything fancy like an Olympic Gold Medalist or world-renowned crocodile wrestler.

 

I think someone who could tap dance would be nice.

 

Someone who could speak French. A hairdresser. A basketball coach. Someone who could recite Shakespeare. A person from a different place (any place- a different city, state, country). Someone very old. Someone very young. Someone who sees the world in a beautiful way. A mathematician. A boxer. Someone who will cook for me. Someone who likes the rain. That person that rides their bike everywhere. A taxi-cab driver. A dentist.

 

I want someone who will tell me stories.

 

Someone who appears utterly normal, but when you get to know them, is endlessly fascinating. Because, aren't we all?

 

I know someone who changes her nail color everyday.

I know someone who can solve a Rubix's Cube like it's a paint-by-numbers.

I know someone who's home always smells of warm bread.

I know someone who likes the rain.

I know an Oilfield Roughneck who qualifies to join MENSA.

I know a six-year-old who looks at the world with innocent eyes.

It's time to appreciate the little things that make us who we are.

You can type a name into a search engine and thousands of people pop up. But what if you type a name, followed by a picture of the scar on that person's elbow from when they fell off their first bike. What if you put that they went to a Bob Dylan concert in '09 and can say their alphabet backwards and that their favorite food is grilled cheese and tomato soup?

Then you have whittled down thousands into one. One, may I say, interesting person.

That's what I want. To find the amazing in the ordinary. To find the magical in the usual. I want to surround myself with interesting people, with the hopes that some of that wonder may rub off on me.
They say everyone you have ever met knows something you do not.

I don't know about you, but I'm ready to learn.

Bad Case of Bad Boy Itch

I'll be the first to admit it. I'm into dorks. You know the quiet, gorgeous, guy in the corner who can never fully articulate his amazing intellectual abilities. The go-getter with aspirations and drive. I always fall for the guy who just can't seem to see how truly amazing he is.

But recently something has changed. And it's all because of Taylor Swift.

I heard a lot of hype about her new song "I knew you were trouble", so I figured I would give it a look. Little did I know what I was getting into.

Here's a link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNoKguSdy4Y

It was the most amazing music video I've ever seen. I kind of went a little overboard and watched it like ten times in a row. And it changed something in me.

You know how in The Amazing Spiderman Peter Parker gets bit by a mutant spider and suddenly he can walk on walls and has super-strength?

"I knew you were trouble" was my mutant spider. Side-effects: I'm really into bad boys now.

I don't know what it is about them, their care-free attitude, the fact they're as hard to catch as butterflies (Note: I need one large butterfly net), but I want one. I want the bad boy.

 

I think every good girl has this dream. The bad boy who is only good to her. The good girl who's finally able to "live a little". I think in every woman seats the deep-rooted urge to change a man.

 

I want him to fight and curse, for his skin to be sun-kissed from traveling cross-country in his gorgeous classic Camaro. For him to be daring and dare I say, devilish.

 

Can someone please knock some sense into me before I get my heart broken?! Meh. Maybe it's worth it. Time to live a little.

 

God I hope this is a phase.

 

 

Grand Memories

I remember when I spent my Saturday nights in my aunt's backyard. When the mud-pit was freshly carved and the water warm from a day in the sun. When the fire cast a glow over all and you could smell a roast smoking on the barbecue. When our music was blaring and we were singing and my uncle would strum his battered two-string guitar. It was at a time when life was not treating us too well. But in that moment, everything was good.

I remember when I was 10 and saw a Snickers bar sitting on the table. Without much thought, I took it and ate it. My dad was furious it had been stolen and demanded somebody 'fess up. I appointed myself detective to find the dirty scoundrel who had taken what was rightfully my dads! I gave him suspects and possible motives. Finally, I broke down in sobs and told the truth. It was I who had eaten that Snickers bar. And I remember him hugging me and chuckling softly, saying, "it's all right".

I remember the year that every Saturday morning, my mom would wake us up bright and early. We would go into the kitchen always to find an array of colored pancake batters. And every Saturday we would make rainbow pancakes for breakfast.

I remember when my nana came to visit after my cousin, Ben, was born. I was busy at my aunt's house cleaning, trying to make it comfortable for the new baby's arrival home. My nana decided she'd "help" me. I cleaned off the fireplace mantel, dusting and rearranging the picture frames. Funny, how I noticed that when I left the room, the frames would silently be moved back. I had already got the salute from my uncle to do whatever I pleased with the house, so I decided two could play that game. Every time I left the room to put something away, I would come back to find the frames quietly moved back. And again, every time I would move them back to the position I had originally had them. As I dusted, vacuumed, and cleaned, my nana sat on the couch quietly watching TV. The only time she got up was when my uncle came to check on us, where she promptly jumped up and exclaimed how her back hurt from all the work she'd been doing while I watched TV, and when she rearranged the pictures as I was out of the room. At one point, I turned in the livingroom doorway and she stood there. My nana hisssed at me, "you need to leave". As she shooed me out the door, I called my dad. He sternly told me one thing- Don't let her see you cry. She might have. Tears streamed down my face as I walked through half a mile of bramble to my aunt's hospital room. I showed up with scratches all over my legs from having to walk through the weeds. But within the hour the brothers arrived. And they told her that her visit was over; it was her time to leave. I remember my uncle turning to me and saying, "No one, treats you like that.".

I remember going to Applebees with my grandma and the cute waiter flirting with me. I laughed because for one, he was way too old, and two, it was in front of my poor clueless grandma! We got in the car, turned on the radio, and started talking about the food. Then she turned to me, smirked, rolled her eyes and said "God, that waiter would NOT stop hitting on you!". Some much for poor, clueless grandma...

I remember watching my mom pull up to the house and sit in the car for an hour before she came inside. Just sit there. And honestly, for a long time I didn't realize that wasn't normal.

I remember the late nights when the four of us kids would be piled in the back as we drove the route home that was so familiar, I could anticipate every bump. And I remember it was the wonderful moments when one of us four tired kids would start humming a song. And slowly, almost magically, that sleepy car would fill with music as we all started singing. Singing a song we had known so long, we couldn't remember when we learned it. A song that was warm and bright and kept that sleepycar towing its way home. I think in that way, the song was my family: a little off key and not always in sync, but warm and bright. A song established long before me; I had known it as long as I could remember. And though some words of the song I forgot, and had to pretend I knew with an extended hum, it was that song that always got me home.

Oftentimes I look at my life as just beginning. I focus on the million things I've never done. But sometimes, it's nice to look back on the grand memories I've lived.



All Things Important

I can easily eat a whole box of granola bars. I mean clean out an unopened box in a 24 hour period. I really like granola bars.



I'm a hopeless romantic. Waaitt a sec, I just used the phrase "hopeless romantic". Ew. I will not become that person. What I meant to say is, I dream of that crazy-stupid-love (I feel more comfortable with that phrase).

 

I want spontaneity. Like drop everything, load the truck, and drive to the Pacific Ocean so I can stick my toes in the sand. Unfortunately, my bathing suit and I are at war. I don't have that kind of cash. Oh yeah, and I don't have a license...

 

I dream of the "Somedays". You know, the "Someday" when I drop the granola bar, hop into the bathing suit and the car and go find that crazy-stupid-love somewhere amongst the sand I crave.

 

"Somedays" aren't a bad thing. It means I have goals. Where I am in my life right now was once a "Someday". And now here I am.

 

I want to get on a stage that is not my living-room coffee table. I know if I try, I will someday. How can I expect someone to believe in me if I don't entirely believe in myself. We make our own luck.

 

My favorite color used to be yellow. Now I think it's orange. But I may change my mind.

 

I think the biggest compliment someone can give me is to say I look like my mom. I can always tell if they're genuine.

 

Here is a list of some of my favorite words: Putz, Schmuck, bona fide (pronounced Bone-A-Fide), Good Grief, and Murph. The last one is not really a word. It is a sound. I like it.

 

My father, the single parent to four children who makes constant sacrifices for us and works harder than any one I know, always scratches my back when I'm scared. He's my idol.

 

I have learned a great many wisdoms from The Beatles, but there is one simple line I believe to be the most sound advice you will ever recieve.

All you need is Love.