365 Days Later....

365 days ago... What a powerful set of words. A whole year. That seems like forever when you think of it as 8,760 hours or 525,600 seconds. But I'm not choosing to think about a year as forever. It really is only 12 months, four short seasons. That hardly seems like enough time to accomplish all of the things that "a year" should contain. Happiness. Excitement! Love. Pain. But most of all a year should contain memories. Memories are the bones of a lifetime.

Me, I've made the last year of my life... well, memorable. Not necessarily in a good way, but the year's events have definitely shaped the bones of my figurative being. But, oh the lessons I've learned!

365 days ago I was lying in the bed of our local ER. It was the day before my birthday and my little sister had inadvertently damaged a nerve in my neck, an accident that still presents complications. I remember being transferred from one bed to an x-ray table, back to the bed, then to another x-ray table. Every time my neck moved in the slightest I wanted to scream from the pain, but I did not let the siring electric wires in my neck bubble forth in any other form than silent tears that ran down my cheeks in a steady flow and caused all the nurses to whisper when they thought I couldn't hear. I was mostly crying because of the pain, but also because of a feeling that had grown inside of me for months, fostered by bad, bad, bad association. At the time, I couldn't have told you that feeling meant, but I can now. It was emptiness. I cried over things that I thought I wanted even though I honestly didn't even know what I was asking for.

Anyway, after the hospital staff finally determined that strong pain killers would mask the pain long enough for the muscles in my neck to stop going into uncontrollable spasms, me and my mother drove around for hours trying to find a 24 hour pharmacy. You'd be surprised just how many pharmacies close at ten. However, we finally did find one, and I spent the next few days, including my birthday, floating in and out of extreme laxness and unconsciousness.

You know, I don't really think I ever came out of that laxness. I became lax about my friends, my attitude, my morals. But 365 days later, I can tell you that I am very much concious. Neither does my neck hurt, nor do tears are fall from my eyes. The drugs have finally worn off. Finally!

Now, for that which I really wanted to tell you. I accomplished something today! Something that seems like the best, most satisfying thing in the entire world. Are you ready for this?

With the patient and loving assistance of my fabulous big sis, I perfected the art of parallel parking! What can I say? I'm a complete and total geek! (Not a dork...;) But having something to be proud of, no matter how small, seems like the only thing I could possibly ask for.

Could it be that the only thing I really need to find is an accomplishment in every day? Hmm.. Interesting. Now I'm intrigued. What did you accomplish today? How about tomorrow?

I would love to tell you that for the next 365 days I will write to you everyday and tell you what I've accomplished in life, but I can't. The only thing I can guarantee is that the 525,600 seconds of my life are going to be filled with contentment. It's a word that means being satisfied with having nothing more exciting to blog about than parallel parking. It's a word that means trying hard to keep your life simple, to the point, purposeful. It's a word that leads to true happiness.

Contentment means taking each day for what it's worth.

With that said, tomorrow is going to be a great day. I get to visit my ponies, and I get to hang out with my lovely grandmother. Life is good.   :)

Baby Doll

I have big news. Something happened less than forty eight hours ago that simply doesn't happen everyday. A new creature was brought into this world, a baby girl. She's an absolute doll, which is how she came to be called Dollie, and she's already too big for me to hold in my arms. She has beautiful red hair, an admirable feature, and kind brown eyes that scream for attention. If she would just stand still, I'm sure you would think she was plastic. She's the perfect baby doll!

I must say that I the hour I had allowed to groom, tack, and ride T-Pony this morning before I left for a long weekend in a suburb of Chicago was not entirely spent on riding. In fact, most of that time I spent on the floor of a stall, stroking Dollie's neck as she fell asleep on her mother's hay.

Lovely Ladies

Isn't she the cutest, littlest, sweetest thing you've ever seen? The very fact that she literally fell asleep in my arms is enough to melt my heart.

For those of you who don't know horses, it is NOT normal for a two-day-old filly to be so comfortable with humans as to fall asleep in their arms. Dollie is the exception to the rule, and I love it!

So dear readers, you see... You are never too old to fall asleep dreaming of your baby doll!

Spring Fever

Don't you just love springtime in Illinois? All of these hot/cold weather teasers to keep us on our toes.

But I have to be honest. Springtime has never been my favorite season. I'm a fall-time kind of girl. I love the cool nights that come as a relief after the scorching summer heat, the smell of diesel as the combines and semis kick into full gear, the late night campfires, the colors of the changing leaves. It's a truly magical time of year.

Is it possible that I've never loved Spring because I've never had the opportunity to be outside and enjoy it? For the last X-amount of years, I've been stuck inside, slaving away after my studies. I do believe this is the first time in my life I have been literally forced into the elements, way before my mental alarm clock begins to ring.

Ahh.... Hormonal mares, knee-high mud, spring shots, studdy yearlings... the joys of "horsehood" in March. It's a beautiful thing.

I can handle hormonal mares. They'll soon be somewhat back to normal and bring another amazing creature into existence.

The mud proves to be an ongoing nuisance, but then again, isn't that why God invented muck-boots?

Studdy yearlings... Let's just say that they've settled dramatically since their brain surgery.

You'd think I could handle all of the glitches of springtime.

But I must say, this spring shot thing has me stumped. Mandatory vaccinations include West Nile, 5-Way, and Strangles. Done. I understand. These are real viruses that effect horses locally.

Then there is such a thing as a "preference shot." These include Rabies and the Potomac Horse Fever.

Honestly, when was the last occurrence of a horse infected with Rabies? I've been around the horse world for over 1/2 my life and have NEVER heard of such a thing. On the flip side, if my horse is the first to be infected to my knowledge, he will die. There is no cure, no treatment. D-E-A-D. That's just all there is to it.  So what to do? Take the chance that K-pony will be the first? Or take the chance that no rabid raccoons will come bounding out of the woods, determined to take a chunk out of my horse?

I'm a risk-taker, but my horse's life is one thing that I've never taken lightly. Therefore, I have always, always vaccinated for rabies. It's never been an issue for me.

Today was spring-shot-day. K-pony was injected with mandatory+rabies vaccines. Then the attending vet suggested very strongly that everyone vaccinate for the Potomac Horse Fever. But it is, after all, a preference shot. Believe it or not, this is one decision I've never before run across.

The way I understand it, the virus is transmitted by May flies laying eggs in your horse's water. I don't know if you've noticed, but Illinois is filled to the brim with May flies in May. However, the vaccine does not prevent the virus. It merely reduces the severity of the case, given your horse is even infected in the first place. The disease can be deadly, but not always. There is treatment, but it is not 100% effective. Also, there has not been many cases of Potomac reported in the area... but IT'S ON THE RISE!!!! (Isn't it always something?)

Correct me if I'm wrong, but couldn't "less severe" still be deadly? And wouldn't you notice if your horse broke out in a high, high fever?  You would think so, but what a toss up!

Would you risk it with someone or something you loved?

I did. I risked it. I did not vaccinate for the Potomac Horse Fever. If I made the wrong choice, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself, but I honestly don't think I did. Given the precautions that have already been implemented at my stable, I've made the mental choice to assume things will be fine, and not think about the "what-ifs" in the situation.

Whew! It's hard to imagine that a simple day in March would bring such a weighty decision.

Random side note: As you all have probably already deduced by now, I would advocate from here to the moon and back for my baby sister, who has Down Syndrome. Do you know what's more encouraging than anything else? To see another sibling of a child with disabilities sticking up for what's right and appreciating their true beauty.

Check out this incredible video.

I hope Sarah Grace and all other children with Downs will someday realize how fortunate they are to have people around them who will always be there to love them, support them, and (in Sarah Grace's case) make great music for them.

Bubbly

You know what's really sad? Smelling like Orbit Bubblemint.

Yep, the gum.

Why, you might ask, do I smell like Bubblemint?

Because, I tell you, the new Catwalk shampoo, which is supposed to be incredibly moisturizing for curly hair, smells like Bubblemint.

You know what's even more sad? Smelling, if only faintly, of horse 24/7.

For the last eight years, I have kept a strict rule that when I come home from the barn, I shower immediately. I love the smell of a horse... in a barn. Not so much while I'm lounging around in sweat pants or sipping my Toffee Mocha. This rule has not changed, but for some reason the pungent smell of hay bales and sawdust have decided to lodge  themselves between my fingernails, at the very roots of my hair, and deep within the callouses of my hands.

Note that this is NOT a complaint. I love being at the barn everyday. I love hearing twenty horses munching happily at their breakfasts before I have my own. I love the simple pleasures in my life, the things that make me smile, the things that never change.

I love to cook. I love to bake even more. It is another thing that will never change. No matter what, if you follow the recipe, something delicious is bound to result.   

I HATE chocolate chips cookies. I do believe in the cookie monster. It's the thing that comes and flattens my chocolate chip cookies every stink'n time! It's the thing that interprets my cookies as pancakes instead.

Anywho, I think over the course of the last four months, I have baked/cooked almost everything imaginable. Baking has always proved to be highly therapeutic for me. It is when I do my best thinking.

But wouldn't you think I could have been programed to think while running? Or while engaging in some sort of exercise?

Having fresh produce, freshly baked goods, and at least one delicious meal constantly before my eyes has had a surprisingly undesirable affect on my lovely lady lumps. So I've decided. Only one batch of baked goods every week. That's a good place to start. But that darn raspberry truffle cake is calling my name... SILENCE!

Sigh. 

You know your life is officially dull when the voices in your head happen to be food items.

Catching Up

I wish I had some fabulously romantic reason for neglecting my duties as a blogger; unfortunately I do not. In fact, I might have an even duller reason for not checking in with you more often than you might expect. The true reason for my non-blogging is inexplicable. The only hint of an excuse I can come up with is it seems as though the exact same twenty four hour day I've been living my entire life has simply become an insufficient period of time in which to accomplish all the tasks that need to be tended to. And although the last few weeks have been highly unproductive, I will tell you that several almost life changing things have occurred. 

#1--My barn owner/manager/glue-that-holds-the-place-together was riding her four year old palomino reining prospect when something still yet to be determined set him off, and he flipped over backwards on top of her. To make matters worse, he then decided to roll off and then back on top of her in attempt to get back on his feet. Yeah... She has a broken pelvis, four broken ribs, and several hematomas in her stomach. I can guarantee that whoever said riding horses wasn't a sport had never experienced it for themselves.

#2--I offered to help the same barn owner/manage/glue-that-holds-the-place-together's husband, who is not a horseman, keep things in order while she was in remission. She's an invalid for goodness sake! 

#3--The same barn owner/manager/glue-that-holds-the-place-together offered me a full time job permanently, since apparently she appreciates my work ethic. This entails being up, shining, and ready to start chores at 4:40AM and back again at 4:00PM to feed, muck, etc, etc all over again. Call me crazy, but I did the happy dance when she offered me the position. Not only do I need the job, I love the job. Okay, the 4:40AM part is not ideal, but I'm a Walker; I can take it!  (Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood )

#4--In order to keep my sanity, I drink mochas, right??? Here's the sad thing: mochas are not really in the budget right now, so I have resurrected my old sanity keeping method, baking. You know, there is something truly fabulous about working hard at something complicated for a really long time and then be able to see immediate benefits of your effort. Hence, the high I recieved after spending hours baking and icing my red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting. Or how about my angel food cake with seven-minute frosting? Or those delicious strawberry cupcakes with strawberry meringue butter cream icing? Okay, so I'm admitting my best friend is right for once... I am a domestic goddess.

#5--I've decided to forgo the novel writing business for now. There has been some people that have said that my foregoing is just a substitute word for quitting. They're wrong. I just have decided writing without inspiration is worse than not writing at all. 

#6--I have realized just how obsessive compulsive I really am. For instance, I wrote 85,000 words in less than two months. Now I don't write at all. I read twelve novels in one month. Now I'm half way through three. I'm baking up a storm, when a month ago I saw that hobby as an aspect of the past. The only thing that has held my undivided love and attention for years and years is my passion for horses. It is my belief that I inherited this compulsiveness from my mother's mother. Thanks, Grandma.

Summary: I have a job, am baking, not writing, and have realized I'm a compulsive freak :) I love my life.

And you'll just have to wait for number seven, as it hasn't happened yet. But, it will. Did you know the number seven is a sign of completeness? So see, something, yes something, is still missing.

Revised Version: My Bit

I have a small confession to make. It has to do with changes, specifically changes within the last year. Don’t get your hopes up; it’s has nothing to do with a juicy, dramatic love account, but rather with two little girls who happen to be my nieces.

Exactly one year ago, I wrote a slightly pointed poem in which I vented my continual frustration to their pestering. The poem was modeled after Shel Silverstein’s work, complete with an illustration, as you can see to the right. (Now you can tell why I’m not an art major ;) If I remember properly, the poem ended with them tripping over the crack in the road… and let’s just say I didn’t have to worry about them anymore… Terrible, right? Needless to say it was not at all politically correct, and you can probably understand why it could have been interpreted to be quite offensive.

But it was not without good reason that I had so much pent up frustration. It stemmed from the fact that for years I would get the heavy responsibility of entertaining them at events we would go to together, and seeing as we’re family, there were not many events I went to without them. A year ago they would have been eight and nine years old, and were used to being catered to. Consequently, they whined relentlessly. I absolutely can’t tolerate that kind of behavior from any child, let alone one that I care about. But because I have always been just the fleeting aunt, I was not in a place where I could correct them gracefully, and so I just smiled and waved. I loved them, but honestly, I couldn’t stand them.

However, sometime in the past year, something changed. I’m sure it had to do with my growing up a lot, and their maturity increasing as well.

Today, for the second Sunday in a row, my family and theirs went out to eat at the delicious and highly filling Logan’s Steakhouse, and for the second Sunday in a row, I’ve enjoyed these two little girls! They seem to have developed their own personalities, and are completely different people than I remember. The ten year old is very ladylike and never speaks anything controversial, while the nine year old is much more candid. They are the perfect sisterly combination, and both dote upon my very existence as something marvelous in itself. Why is beyond me.

Analyzing them now and the hesitations that they have towards advancing adolescence makes me realize how similar we womenfolk really are! When I was their age(wow, that makes me feel old), I felt like an outsider in most settings in which I was placed and was shy about life in general. I looked at the older girls that I was around as some sort of gods that represented everything I wanted to be. I copied their hairstyles miserably, and appeared as every other ten year old does: awkward, stuck somewhere between baby face and teen.

Side note: At this time in my life, there was one particular girl whom I adored. I saw her maybe twice a year and treasured my time with her dearly. The sad part was that she did not reciprocate the love. She pushed my away, which only made me more desperate for her attention. In short, it did not end with me having very fond memories of her.

There was some good that came out of that though. I learned by example what not to do to these little girls who now look up to and model me. I would never want them to look back on me as the girl who didn’t want them around in the first place and could care less if they came back. Rather, I want to be the one that befriends them for life. They’re my nieces for goodness sake! They’re going to be around forever, so I might as well love them. It makes life so much easier that way. Besides, who doesn’t want devoted followers?

So now that I’ve made my confession, I have to tell you a short story that made me love these girls all the more:

They asked me towards the end of the meal if I would take them to the bathroom. Of course, I would. We get there, we separate into individual stalls. Silence, right? Ha. Noooo… the farthest thing from it. I might be old fashioned, but personally I find it extremely rude to be talking during such private times, but again, that’s just me.

“K?????” I heard from the stall next to me. It was J, the younger of the two’s voice.

“Yes?” I responded to my name, hoping that her next statement would not include the word “help.”

“How many more days until my mom get’s home?”

Okay, so my older sister is in California having brain surgery. It’s a sensitive issue, and not at all what I was expecting, but I responded instantaneously, “Eight, Hun.”

The next thing I know I see these pudgy little fingers coming under the door! What the heck? I’m peeing here!

“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Hey! You’re right! (Giggle, giggle.)”

I couldn’t help but giggle myself! It was one of those Whoopi Goldberg’s Is it Just Me? moments. You just shake your head and laugh along.

And so I have officially taken on two more people to love and give attention to. Love you, Quys!

Behinds

I have a question for you, Dear Readers. Why do certain young men feel that it is perfectly acceptable for them to walk around with their behinds hanging out? As this issue has been literally before my eyes the entire day, I have spent plenty of time thinking about it, and clearly I have no answer.

Today I attended an auction that was located not half an hour from my home. I am here to tell you that in this area of Central Illinois, you hardly ever see those that lean towards the ghetto side of things. Hicks, yes. Gangstas, not so much. For the most part, everyone dresses, talks, and acts decently. That being said, you can imagine my shock when entering the auction to see a whole group of behinds staring at me. Behinds. Not eyes, they were covered by smirks. Not smiles, they were hidden by the cigarettes. Not actual people, but some kind of mixture between human and demonized creature.

Granted these behinds were covered by sheer boxers, but still. The very fact that I know that these random dudes were wearing boxers is revolting. And the ironic part was that they were all wearing belts!!! What is that about? Whoever heard of wearing a belt around your knees? I just have to point out that if I was going to walk around in the frigid Illinois air with my rear end sticking out, which I am not planning on doing any time soon, I really would not bother with such an inconvenience as a belt!

But anyway… I might as well tell you that all of these young men, if you were to hose them down, strip, and redress them, would have been decent looking. In fact, I might even stretch that to attractive. But no. They’re too cool. Such a crime against society. It will be no surprise to you, then, that I kept my distance from these shadows in the crowd.

A few hours later, when returning to the auction, I realized that I had absolutely no choice but to walk directly past this crowd of behinds, but that was not the intimidating part. See, unusually I have absolutely no problem walking up to a perfect stranger, but apparently that’s only if they have a suitable clothing situation on their lower halves. It didn’t help that they were all staring at me.

Okay.

I’m younger.

I like to think I’m decent looking.

I’m alone.

I have no way of defending myself.

There’s one of me.

Four of them.

There’s no one else around.

Their eyes seemed to breath fire while their mouths steamed smoke.

I’m all about the bad boys, but that was just plain scary.

Yet, I mustered up boldness, carried on my planned course, held my head high, and avoided any eye contact whatsoever. But as I walked closer and closer to them, I could feel their eyes cutting into every inch of my body, and I could not help but shoot the very well practiced “Flip off!” glare in their direction. Here’s the thing: While giving them this silent warning, I happened to catch a glimpse of their faces. Beneath their sideways hats and oversized clothes, there stood four kids! Just like me and every other adolescent I know! One, however, stood out to me in particular: blond hair, blue eyes, tall, and (the most interesting part) he still had baby fat on his face. He reminded me very much of a certain someone a year ago, only with worse clothes and short hair. This made me realize that the guys that we standing before me were some mother’s babies! And there they were, definitely younger than I am, smoking, checking out random girls, with their rear ends hanging out! What happened to them? Here’s where appearance is everything comes into play. For all I know they could be smart and caring human beings, but no one would ever see that! Most of us would only see the hocus pocus of what’s apparently cool.

After making this two second realization in my own mind, I was now standing within a few feet of these, dare I say, people? The instinctual glare resumed it’s position locked deep inside the mind, only to be disturbed for other such important times, and to my surprise, a smile and a graceful, “Hey!” came flying out of my mouth! They all about jumped three feet in the air, obviously not expecting a girl to talk to them, and after clearing their throats and straightening up their stances said hi back in an all too macho way.

I wasn’t quite brave enough to stick around to have a conversation them, but I couldn’t help seeing them differently for the remainder of the day. That’s where my question comes in: Why do certain young men feel that it is perfectly acceptable for them to walk around with their behinds hanging out? It ruins everything. Had they been suitably dressed and adorned with a halfway inviting smile on their faces, they might have had the pleasure of conversing with the great and wonderful Sanity Mochas. What a loss! And if I, who does not consider herself to be a judgmental person, would shy away from them, think of the countless other opportunities they will continue to miss out on daily… all because their behinds are hanging right on out there for God and everybody to see. And I am here to tell you, if my own dear Prince Charming ever, and I mean ever, dresses himself in such an inappropriate fashion, I just might have to kill him. And no, not literally.  :)

Non-Shopaholic Syndrome

You see, most girls love a new pair of shoes like I love a new piece of tack. Most girls get high from successfully matching an entire outfit, while I get a high by jumping my horse over three-foot oxers. Most girls crave a spree at the mall like I crave my Mocha Frappuccino.

I have my differences with these most girls, and I am more than fine with that. But every once and a while I get sucked into a “most girls day” at the mall. Being as a day spent with my best friend was long overdue, we took an afternoon out on the town, or rather, out on the mall.

Here’s fact: I’m the type of girl that goes shopping half a dozen times a year, each with a very specific purpose, i.e. new dress and heals, or jean shorts and kicks. The little shops with all of their glory do not appeal to me for one very concise reason: All of the clothes look amazing on me, but I’m flat broke 95% of the time. To avoid falling in love with clothes I can’t afford, I avoid the designer shops as a whole.

Yesterday was the exception to my rule. We weaved and wandered and window-shopped until I thought I was going to die should I come across one more article of clothing that was obnoxiously screaming my name. I’d had enough. It was time to try on something pretty.

J.C Penny’s (which I realize is not one of those compact designer stores, but go with me here) had all of their prom dresses on sale. I’ve been in love with prom dresses since I was thirteen. I fell in love with a big, poofy, pink, floor length ball gown that made me feel like Cinderella. It was like the ultimate game of dress-up. Unfortunately my mother made me return it. Prom was to be a very, very long time away. Hence, my continuing fetish with prom dresses. I at least had to try on the pretty ones.

The last time I had one physically on my body was probably two years ago when a large portion of my baby fat still remained firmly, and very unattractively, on my legs. I’m the first to admit that I was downright misshapen! I avoided any dress that hung straight or was shorter than my kneecaps. Most of the time I still see myself as that little girl with the weird body and look for the more sophisticated styles.

Oh, how times have changed!

I talked myself into trying on some short, short, “You actually wore that in public!?” short dresses. THEY LOOKED AMAZING!!!  I’m no longer misshapen, nor does it need to be catered to with non-teenager-like styles. I can rock the junior section!

Here’s the sad part: I fell in love with two dresses that I can’t afford simply because I have nowhere to wear them.  One is a floor length, straight ball gown. It is dark blue with beaded straps. My best friend said I looked like a Grecian goddess in it, and I happened to agree. However that was not the aspect that particularly tempts me. The temptation arose when I remembered that I do in fact have an event that I could wear it to if only I could find a colored sweater to wear with it, and it’s 50% off! Sigh…. Despite all of this, I left empty handed. Fortunately, should I be convinced to return, I know the way.

Just to reinforce my disdain for the mall life, let me give you a true example. While I was trying to talk myself into or out of this beautiful dress, I was asked to retrieve another dress for my best friend. Sure, I would go get it. When I walked out of the dressing room, the prom dresses were nowhere in sight. Hmm… So I started walking in the direction in which I thought I might find them and eventually they appeared. By the time I found the correct size, the dressing room was now the thing that was nowhere in sight. Again I headed in the direction I thought would lead me back to my desired location, except this time I was not successful. I now knew that their about a gillion dressing room in the upper level of J.C. Penny’s, but the one I was searching for had disappeared. I was lost. Yes, the girl who can find her way out a strange city, in the dark no less, was lost in the mall, in a prom dress, with no phone. It was only after I began to pass the same few things time after time that I resorted to desperate measures. I asked three different clerks if they had happened to see which dressing room I came out of. They hadn’t. I got several stern glares from passersbys, but smile I did. It was really quite ironic to be lost, in a mall, in a prom dress, looking like you’re totally high, on a mission to find a dressing room. Ha. In case you were wondering, I did eventually find the dressing room that contained my belongings. As it turns out, it was the only one in the entire store that wasn’t marked. So I’m not that stupid, just directionally challenged within the walls of the mall.

Today was not such a “most girls day,” and so I decided to wear my two new purchases: a sparkly headband and a pair of patterned tights ($1, and very cute I might add) with a pencil skirt and black shirt. Simple, elegant, accessible. That’s how I’ve always been.

Because it is awfully rare that I get new, noticeable items in my wardrobe, I received several compliments on my headband, and only one comment on my tights. This one particular comment came from the mouth of an older woman who is known for talking just a little too much. She has probably spoken to me 10 times in the entirety of my life, and only once had a legit conversation. Out of the blue, she comes up to me and says, “I’ve been trying to figure out what your hose remind me of, and I finally figured it out! You look like a cow! I mean, your legs; they look like cow’s legs. Yeah, okay, bye!”

I looked down at my tights. They’re black. They’re shear. They have a pattern that swirls randomly. Does that sound like a cow to you, dear reader? I swear some people would be much better off if they just never spoke out loud at all. But then again, I suppose that’s why I don’t have the power to shut people up. If I did, there would be an awful incident of mute people in central Illinois.

Despite being told I look like a cow in my tights, I still rather like them. They’re different I suppose, kind of like me. I’m not like other girls, remember? And, let you tell you, standing out as different is not a bad way to be. As it is, I am blessed with three people I explicitly trust in this world, one I truly love. I have one passion, one goal: to live, to love, to laugh, to be happy. And I have officially accepted, cow tights and all, I am who I am, and I’m okay with being just that. 

Southern Belle of the Tourist Type

Well, Y'all, I'm writing to you from a quaint little hotel in Missouri called the Drury Inn. The occasion for me being away from home isn't that great, being as I'm here for my aunt's funeral, but I am thoroughly enjoying the small town Southern charm. It is so different from the fast pace world of central Illinois! People talk slow, they eat slow, they laugh loud. Altogether refreshing.

My big sister, my parents, and I started on our journey South at precisely 9:00PM. Why we couldn't wait to come down tomorrow is beyond me, but then again, I'm just the passenger in the matter. By 9:30PM I was exhausted and had a blazing headache. I would have done anything for a decent Mocha Frapp! 10:00PM came and went and BEHOLD!!! The Promised Land! Exit 98B. Starbucks!! YESSS!!! Suddenly I wasn't drowsy at all, and the only thing I could think of was getting to my desperate desire as quickly as humanly possible. Being as everyone else had to go to the bathroom anyway, they consented and dived into Starbucks' parking lot. I practically jumped out of the car before I realized that all the lights were off in the building. That's funny. Must have forgotten to pay the electric. Yeah, they were freaking closed! How in the world could Starbucks be closed? Not cool.

I looked to my right for another option. Mobil station. Eh. And to the left was McDonald's. This was probably the most unappealing option that could have come into play for several reasons. Number 1: The whole building was under construction. Number 2: The particular McDonald's holds several piercing memories that are altogether too fresh. Number 3: McCafe is grody!!!

Dad had to go to the bathroom. Right then. McDonald's it is.

I go in the door, get hit with a heavy pit in my stomach, and suddenly loose all appetite for the Mocha Frapp I was craving. It took me the whole ten minutes everyone was in the bathroom for me to finally decide that memories or not, I had to eat. And what else would one order at McDonald's at almost 10:30PM? A large fry, Baby! My big sis then reminded me that I was consuming probably close to 1,000 calories. So, your point is? Thankfully, I still have a working metabolism!

The fries weren't nearly as good as I thought they were going to be, but combined with an Ibuprofen and a glass of water, they succeeded in subsiding my splitting headache.

Onward and upward we trod! We detoured straight through the heart of St. Louis. I love that city! It isn't at all as intimidating as other cities I've been through. Besides, the Arch is incredible! Before I die, I HAVE to get to the top of that thing! So beautiful, and completely enthralling.

Two hours later, after consuming some Jalapeno Cheetos, gummy Life Savers, and coasting down the biggest/longest hill I have ever encountered, we arrived at our current destination. And to think! It's only shortly after 2:00AM! Not bad at all!

Even though this was the last place on earth I had any desire to spend the end of my week and I was practically drug along, I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting few days. My father dear has many a places he has to go to get his favorite BBQ, the best coke, etc. Plus, I'm privileged to spend a few days with cousins I barely ever see and who i enjoy very much.

So in the words of our hotel concierge, "Y'all have a good night, ya hear? Breakfast ends at 9:30, now."

Yeah, soo not getting up for that :)

Stabbed

I am such a wimp. I pride myself on being able to fall off a 1300lb animal and get up laughing and more determined than ever, but today I was a wimp. But, I do have a reason, as you will see. I was stabbed in the arm… Okay, maybe stabbed is a little dramatic. It was more like poked, stuck, or “pinched,” as they call it, they being the dreaded nurses.

Due to the fact that my body has decided to take up a number of abnormal activities that are rather alarming, my doctor, wonderful man that he is, ordered every blood test in the book, which led to the stabbing incident. (Thanks, Doctor. I really appreciated your thoughtfulness after the seventh, yes seventh, vial!)

As my father dear drove me to the hospital, I suddenly felt shooting pains running up and down my left arm. I looked down and saw the spot, the spot where they always get me. I have two prominent veins that are apparently full of life, for every time I need any type of treatment, that is the first place the nurse looks and subsequently stabs. Oh, how my arm did cramp! It was as if my muscles were going into rebellious spasms against the impending event.

It did not help my nervousness when I saw that the nurse who called my name had crazy eyes. Only the looniest of people would choose human stabbing as a profession, of that I was sure. She tried to distract me by talking about what seems to be on everyone’s mind: Christmas. I think she got the message that I really just wanted her to shut up and get it over with when I stopped talking altogether.

Just kidding.

Me having a very hard time being rude to strangers + my talkative nature= me talking to her about what I am planning on doing over my winter break. Sadly I was not even to the interesting part when I felt a horrible pain in my arm. My heart stopped beating. My lungs felt paralyzed. The room swirled out of control. Nothing was clear.

And then the nurse’s face was before me just as it had always been. Wait, I wasn’t fainting at all. I was fine. She asked me to continue my story. I looked down and saw the number of vials filled was less than the vials empty. Great, the worst is yet to come! But I respectfully continued my story, speaking of everything and nothing at the same time, and before I knew it, her work was done, and there was a gaping hole in my arm. I shuttered. She put a piece of tape over the bandage and told me I was good to go, but to leave the bandage on so as not to contract any viruses. Oh, gee! Thanks! So if I’m not already, I’m sure to die from a virus that I contract through the gaping hole in my arm. Comforting, to say the least.

I walked to the lobby to find, and Father Dear laughed at the sight of me carrying my arm in my right hand, being careful not to bump it against any obstacles that I may have encountered. What can I say? I told you I was a wimp!

Throughout the whole night I would randomly get a cramp in my arm and have to stretch it out a few times before it would release its grip on my nerves. Oh, the horror. A, my little sister, saw my “owie,” and she just stared over the now bruised hole that the needle left behind like I was the biggest hero in the world. I had endured a great feat in her eyes, being as she hates getting her blood drawn even more than I do. So I suppose something good came of it, but still. Stabbing? Isn’t there another way to test someone’s healthiness rather than completely invading not only their bubble but literally, their BUBBLE?

I’m thinking that maybe, since I am so impassioned by this issue at the moment, that instead of becoming a best selling novelist, I should perhaps be the renowned inventor that comes up with a new way of drawing blood, one that involves no stabbing whatsoever. I presented my idea to a good friend and her response was as follows: Hahahahahahaha. Yeah right. Stick to writing. Haha.

Sniff, sniff. Okay :( So I remain an incredibly wimpy, almost novelist, flat broke student that will have to forever endure the moors of stabbdom.  

A Prayer

Dear God,

You have a wicked sense of humor. In my deepest thoughts, I asked you for a tall, blond, blued eyed Irishman…. And low and behold, you provided one!!! His only issue is that he isn’t particularly Irish, but then again we are in America. However, judging from the day’s events, I suppose you misunderstood me. When I prayed for a Blondie, I meant for me!

You already know what happened but let me tell you again:

My six year old brother, my eight year old sister, my timeless mother, and I arrived at the salon a few minutes early, a rare feat. For most of us humans, getting a haircut is no big deal, but for sweet A, my sister, it is quite a traumatic event. She has Down Syndrome, and many people look at her phobia of haircuts with criticizing eyes, but let me point out the not so obvious: Exactly how many people do the rest of us allow anywhere near our faces with sharp objects? Needless to say, we saved her cut for last, hoping for the best, when who shows up but the tall, blond, blued eyed, MLB candidate, son of the hairdresser! “Oh my, my, my,” was all I could say, thanking you the entire time. I sat in silence, reserving my flirtatious powers, listening to him explain his reason for being there at that particular moment to my mother and his.

Then out of the corner of my ear, I hear a small voice in the background. “Hi,” it said over and over again, grasping for attention. I recognized it as A’s and saw her beaming in his direction.

It wasn’t long before he noticed it too, and to my surprise answered her greeting with a kind, gentle, “Hi!”

I was shocked! Almost everyone to whom she dares to speak out loud either doesn’t respond at all or is very reserved and mechanical. R, on the other hand, answered, looking straight into her eyes, actually caring for her response.

I couldn’t help but notice her ivory cheeks turn rosy, and she covered her face in playfulness. She would peek around her fingers once every few seconds, and R would be waiting for her giggly reaction. Suddenly, she no longer yelled at the suggestion of a haircut, but gently said, “No cut cut, Mamma.” It only took one proposal from R, and she was willing for anything. You should have seen the display of bravery! She covered her eyes and held back the tears with valiant effort! Within minutes a good inch and a half of her hair had been trimmed, and she stood up, looking more beautiful than ever. “Where’s R?” were the first words out of her mouth. 

“Oh, boy,” I thought, as she swaggered towards him, with her hands behind her back. “Pretty,” she chirped as she flipped the ends of her newly trimmed hair. A ridiculous case of eight year old flirting, if you ask me! She spent the next several minutes playing peek-a-boo with him around nearest corner, and the most amazing thing of all was that he was able to carry on a conversation with G, my brother, at the same time! Not an easy task and truly impressive! I haven’t heard my sister laugh like she did today more than a dozen times in her entire existence, and it is the most beautiful sound in the world, nor have I seen her connect with someone that fast, especially with a guy! The three talked sports until it was time to go, and I sat back and watched in fascination.

It warmed my heart to see someone care that much about her feelings. Anyone who knows me is well of my attitude about my sister: If you’ve got a problem with her, I’ve got a problem with you. If you can’t accept her, than you better just walk away. (Oh yeah, I can be like that. ;)

A few hours later, as we sat in front of Sam’s Club, waiting for G, Mom, and the groceries, A talked up a storm about wanting to go see R play baseball. She must have told me a hundred different ways. It was the sweetest thing.

So, dear God, in reviewing all of this, I see your point. I learned something today. I learned that the people that can accept her and love her immediately for who she is are few and far between. She deserves all of them she can get! Besides, how could I steal her first crush? Despite all of the logic, your humor is really quite ironic, and because you have teased me so, I’m going to assume that there truly is an Irishman waiting for me, right around the corner ;) Maybe today was just practice.

Cleaning, Movie, Game

After an altogether depressing morning, I got up and embarked on a rather daunting task: cleaning the garage. Yes, a seemingly mundane task, but my garage is unlike any other. It is full of multiple boxes, shriveled up leaves, old furniture, and junk. It is also the home of S-Dog, your friendly neighborhood golden retriever, and H-Cat, who is very much under the impression that he is king of the forest… nuff said.

Since this area of my home is not one that I spend much time in, its state has not particularly bothered me up until now. The fact of the matter is, the snowy weather is 100% here, and I do not like scraping windshields when I know there’s another option… hence the afternoon being spent outside making trips to and from my garage to the shed, sorting through boxes. Ah, but the transformation was far from complete. I had yet to sweep out the piles of cat hair, dust, and half way rotten leaves, mixed with a blend of dog food and nails. I found myself asking the walls around me, “How in the world did all of this stuff get here?” It was absolutely DISGUSTING and then I thought about the last time I actually swept out the garage… yeah, I can’t remember. Sad, very sad.

The good news is I eventually and single handedly, I might add, liberated the garage’s spirit and triumphantly parked not only one car, but TWO! Inside!!! I was rather proud of myself.

Then, chilled to the bone, exhausted, and still slightly disheartened, I lied down in front of my favorite movie of all time, P.S. I Love You. While it is fantastically romantic, it is also very telling. Some refuse to watch it, claiming it to be too sad, but when you have pent up emotions, repudiating every urge to come out, it is the perfect fix. It is one of those movies that has you in tears one minute, and the next you’re giggling at the characters’ plight. My only question is where are all of these cute, singing Irishmen, waiting for their true love to come along? If you happen to find one sitting on the street, preferably blond, blued eyed, and 6” tall, send him my way!!! :) And now, sitting here pontificating that wonderful piece of Hollywood fiction, I can’t help but share with you the line that always sticks with me: “Alone or not, you’ve got to walk ahead. The thing you’ve got to remember is if we’re all alone, we’re together in that too.” So see, we are truly never alone.

And then we have the Chicago Bulls, for which I have previously been just a “tolerater”, not so much a fan. But then they turn around and BEAT the LA Lakers, who I have a strong disliking for, by four points and guess what? Suddenly I’m a Bulls fan! They literally played their hearts out, and defying all odds, won against the Lakers for the first time in four years! In my opinion Derek Rose is one of the best athletic point guards in the entirety of the NBA. And DANG, Deng!!! They’re amazing!

As you can tell, I’m a girl with strong opinions and a nighttime obsession with basketball. Thank you, Dad, for teaching me to love this sport. And now for the Heat! Let’s go, LeBron!

Return to My Life

Whew! Now that the pressure of finishing the NaNoWriMo competition has mostly subsided, I have to sit back and think of what I'm going to do with myself! Suddenly I have the flexibility to sit down and catch up with friends and family, and I can (can you believe it?) ride my horse! And the biggest plus of all is that my mind has slowed down enough that I can actually enjoy my Starbucks! It's a lovely, lovely feeling. For instance, I went to bed shortly before midnight last night, which is the earliest I have hit the hay in a LONG time, and I woke up having the frivolous craving for a peppermint mocha frappicino. What a wonderful thing to wake up to! And then, in pursuit of my waking conception, I arrived at Starbucks and immediately found out that they do indeed make peppermint mocha frapps. All I have to say is, "Yeahhah!!!" (You must try!) Then I came to the stunning realization that I now have the energy when I get home to blog! That's right, BLOG!! Very exciting, you see.


I was told at the beginning of this experience that I would walk around in a fog day and night and subconsciously be designing my plot even when in the middle of an important conversation! "No," I thought, "I'm not like that." Well, guess what? I am! Hard to believe, but incredibly true! Even though I wouldn't necessarily have to continue writing 2000+ words everyday, I can't help myself! It's a sickness that I cannot shake and have no desire to. I know someday it will all be worth it!

NaNoWriMo WINNER!!!!

 There is a point in every young writer's career when you sit back and say, "Did I  honestly just do that?" At the beginning of this November, which is also the beginning of National Novel Writing Month, I was challenged by the thought of writing a 50,000 word novel in a month. I started week one with great ambition, but by week two was starting to doubt my own abilities. Pep talk after pep talk sat in my inbox, and yes, I read them, and I appreciated their wisdom, but it took inspiration and personal motivation from everyone around me. And then it got to be week four, and the encouragement that consumed literally every conversation in which I was engaged got to be quite irritating. In fact, the people that pushed me through to the insane amount of 50,000 words in a single month were the few who told me I couldn't do it. They were the ones that said, "What do you want to be a novelist for, anyway?" BECAUSE IT IS MY PASSION!!! Words are incredible mixture of letters that you can shape to express anything you care to. They are completely non-judgmental and unprecedented, and when someone bold enough dares to shapes them into beautiful phrases, they can form an art unlike any other. So here's the purpose of this blog (other than to flaunt my dinky little web badges;): GO WRITE!! We all have unfinished plots sitting unwritten in our heads that we partially develop in the middle of the night and have never actually pursued. Set a goal for yourself, and unclog your mind by getting those pesky little plots out on paper. Start with 100 words a day, and before you know it, you'll become so enthralled with your plot that you'll write 200 a day, and then 300, and then the words won't matter so much as finding out how the scene that you're working on will turn out(it rarely ends the way you imagine it in your mind). If I accomplish nothing else by writing this book, I hope that I inspire someone to be audacious enough to get out there and write, knowing that there is a huge chance that you will fall flat and fail, leaving your literary masterpiece to rot in Cyberworld in an incomplete Word document. And so what if you do? Then someday when you're old, when you have time to sit back and ponder over the perfect word choice, you'll never have to suffer the plight of looking at a blank page. Try it! You, my dear reader, have my word: You will not be disappointed in yourself. You can do it!

Now I know on November 3rd I promised sneak peaks into this novel of mine, but honestly, when you're writing 2500+ words everyday, you have no interest in disclosing sneak peaks! But now that the majority of the pressure has been lifted, I will share with you a few details of this tale of mine.

My novel is entitled Told You So and it is meant for an audience of young adults such as myself. Here's a short synopsis written by a good friend of mine:

Sadie Richwood has the perfect life- gorgeous boyfriend, devoted friends, and a white-picket-fence family- until it crashes down around her, and she is pulled into a search for her true identity that could end up costing her everything.

And an excerpt from one of my favorite parts:

    Sadie felt a rush of adrenaline flow through her finger tips, and the reality suddenly hit her. Her eyes widened, and panic spread across her face. An involuntary gasp passed her lips, which drew attention to her stationary figure.
    Suddenly the bickering between the professionals stopped, and their eyes met Sadie’s. The doctor intimidated Sadie, but she couldn’t say why. His dark features penetrated her skin and his eyes seemed to read not only who she was, but what she was thinking. His blue eyes shone wickedly in an arrogant fashion that made his entire being intolerable. None of the nurses looked like they were much past the drinking age, and although they appeared to have decent hearts, Sadie couldn’t tolerate their whiny voices.
    Without any further explanation than the pathetic sigh that emanated from the slightest nurse's mouth and her heavy, defeated expression, Sadie turned and bolted towards the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had no choice but to combine sobbing and sprinting, and her breathing soon turned to gasps for life. She ran past everyone and everything. The world blurred before her eyes and she felt the earth’s gravity dragging her down.
    Once in the elevator Sadie collapsed to the ground in misery. She clawed at the red carpet that was fraying from years of wear, hoping it would relieve her heart’s pain. Sadie heard the sounds of the changing floors, but could not manage to raise herself to her feet. She stayed exactly where she was until at last her sadness turned from raging depression to exhaustion. As she closed her eyes, she heard a familiar voice.
    I told you so. 


The story if far from complete and the plot continues to thicken! I keep telling myself I cannot add any more subplots, that the characters are as complex as they need to be, but the inner perfectionist continues to scream, "But what if?", and sadly that side of me usually wins my internal battle. The book stands at 50,059 words, and I still am not 100% sure where my story will end up. However present the uncertainty, I'm more passionate about writing than ever, and I assure you that someday Told You So will be on the shelf of your local Barnes and Noble, at least I hope so. And so I sit here in my office, on the last snowy day of November thinking, "Did I honestly just do that?"

p. s... i did it for you, Peanut Butter

Ready? Set. Go!

NaNoWriMo. Ever heard of it? Yeah, me neither... until yesterday. It is a national writing competition in which the entire goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Anyone who finishes gets published. My initial reaction was as follows: These people are crazy! No one could do that. Well...it turns out I am a complete hypocrite, because I AM PARTICIPATING!!! That's right! I am writing a novel in exactly 27 days! A part of me is still thinking this is insane, but most of me is ecstatic. According to my calculations, that is approximately 2000 words a day, with two days for editing. It is going to be a particular challenge for me, a perfectionist, because I have to get it through my thick skull that I need to focus on quantity, not quality. I have already written my first 2000 pages. Ugh. My brain is on overload and all I have written is the prologue and the first chapter. It's going to be a long hall, but it will be so worth it! Once I get an idea through my head, it takes a pretty significant event to get it out. This is so firmly implanted in my head that I'm not sure anything could get it out. My novel is going to be fabulously complex and thrilling to read (I hope). Stay tuned for sneak peeks! (:

Two More Reasons

Among all of my other responsibilities in this world, I am a big sister to two incredible kids. I have an eight year old sister, A, who has Downs-Syndrome, and a barely six year old brother, G. Both are full of life and vivacious boldness that can only be found in little ones. Most days I have to exert all of my powers of patience towards tolerating their... flaws. On the other hand there are those days in which their smiling faces bring joy to my heart. Yesterday was one such day. My brother's hand waving vigorously two inches from my face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes and his big brown eyes followed. "Good morning, Sister! (giggle, giggle, giggle)" Oh boy! It's here again. Strangely enough his company wasn't as annoying as I usually find it; in fact, it was unexpectedly pleasant. It was only a matter of minutes and who follows, but A, she too on the hunt for my attention. Both immediately snuggled into my full sized bed... ugh... tight, tight fit! Still not completely back to my senses, I only listened to their giggles and their hushed bickering, as if I didn't know they were there. It was completely adorable and a great way to start my Friday. The entire day I had one or the other attached to my hip.

Their persuasions were irresistible as they entreated me to help them carve a pumpkin. And not just any old pumpkin, a pirate pumpkin. How could any loving big sister deny such a request? Bet you couldn't guess what I spent most of my morning doing! Yes, our pumpkin was complete with mustache, ears, an earring, and most importantly a three-corners hat. My artistic abilities are not quite as well-developed as I would like them to be, however they were thrilled with the finished product. It was quite something.

Throughout the rest of the day I found that since G turned six, he's become quite good at playing the Wii! Not only do I have to try, I really have to TRY! And the depressing thing is he still beats me a good 50% of the time.

They both are growing and changing faster than I realized and are completely different kids than they were at the beginning of the summer. It's incredible to watch and to be a part in raising two terrific people. They are two more reasons for me to be better than I am; I'm sure they'll be watching. I love you guys!

Hibernation Mode

There is something about cooler weather that brings about a change in everyone. For instance, I am not one to eat frivolously, but now that I am in the house for a significant part of the day, I seem to be eating everything in sight! After I noticed a small amount of weight gain, I slammed on the brakes and ate only the bare essentials until I slimmed back down. That was about a week ago. Now I have officially gotten into 'fall mode,' and I discovered my blanket, sweaters, and lounge pants. Attractive, right? The good news is that you can't tell five pounds difference in weight in winter clothes! Yes! I'm saved! According to this new found discovery, I have gone on a baking spree and made a batch of turtle brownies. If I do say so myself, they are FABULOUS... and highly addictive! It seems like every time I walk into or through the kitchen they call my name and say, "Eat me! I am moist and gooey and you looovvvee me!" The depressing thing is that I cave to their pleas every time. How can I deny their chocolate drop eyes? I suppose it's all part of the hibernation mode that every person I know of tends to lean towards when the days get nippy. You begin to randomly crave brownies and chili (both of which I ate today). My old trainer was by far the worst hibernator I have ever known. About the first of November he wouldn't show his face in the barn without a very good reason, and on these rare occasions he was always adorned in the warmest clothes available and a coffee mug in tow. By the first of May when we all would shed our layers and show up in t-shirts, it was surprising to see how skinny we were! We got used to seeing each other in a Carhartt's and fluffy hats; in short we all looked like pumpkins. Strangely enough, I am not dreading the winter months are vehemently as I have in years past. I've already dug out my Carhartt... just in case. Plus, the cold gives me a really good reason to drink more coffee! A girl's got to stay warm, right?

Return of Childhood Obsessions

There are certain things in life that you automatically discard by age 12 because they are no longer socially acceptable among your peers. For me this included getting rid of my stuffed animals that ferociously guarded me for years while I slept. When the time came, they were packed away in tubs; somehow this seemed much more humane than giving them to Goodwill. There they patiently slept for quite some time, waiting to be loved. I honestly forgot about most of them until a good friend of mine gave me the cuddle bug again, the need to have something to hold onto when I sleep. So down I trod into the basement to dig up these stuffed animals. The first thing I noticed was how they had lost their 'loved on' smell and they smelled like a wet basement. Yet, I brought my three favorite upstairs to reclaim their position as my bed sentinels.

Ok, here's the thing... when I was 7 a dozen stuffed things in my bed was comforting; now it's just flat disturbing. For the sake of my sanity, I had to narrow it down to one partner, Emily. She is a Golden Retriever puppy with a green collar covered in little bones. Adorable!

This same friend of mine who gave me the cuddle bug surprised me with a new addition to my collection. He is a teddy bear named Alex (the bear;) and he wears sacred colors... orange and blue! (Go Illini!) I must say he is a very good snuggler, and he smells amazing! It's astounding how little it takes to make a girl's day and how childhood obsessions that seemed so uncool only a few short years ago can all of a sudden be unbelievably comforting once again.

5.02

5.02-     Life as we know it would cease without it. But why? It's just a number, isn't it? Don't be silly; nothing as ever as simple as it seems. Not only would the entire numerical system be altered in this number's absence, $5.02 represents the price of the overall inspiration for this blog.... the Mocha Frappuccino. Some might view such a motivation as meaningless, something unworthy of their time and consideration. That is merely because they do not share the same exhilarating drive that can only be attained through the straw of a Starbucks cup. Without Mochas you can have absolute assurance that a good percentage of the American population would fail epically in all endeavors requiring any sort of sanity. Yes, when all the world is crumbling down around you, is it a black cup of Folgers that keeps you going? Hardly! The luscious taste of the Mocha Frappuccino, however, is comfort enough to suspend us through ANY situation.  

Now obviously there is only so much to be said about a drink, no matter how desirable. This blog is dedicated to all the people who are shaping me into a young adult. Nevertheless, one person in particular deserves to be recognized for his support and loving arms, strong enough to lift me out of the depths of despair. It is this very person who first introduced me to my sanity (the Mocha Frappuccino) and who I pray will be a part of my life forever. 

It is will all confidence that I embark on this crucial journey... discovering the true meaning of Sanity through Mochas.