1. I have been using the cheapest shaving cream ever. Like, foaming, spitting, hissing, bad for the environment CREAM instead of my usual gel. Cheap, cheap shit. Bad, bad idea. Also? OW.

2. I put ice in a sandwich baggie, wrapped it in a dish towel and beat the hell out of it with a rolling pin to make crushed ice for my homemade iced mocha. I thought I was being so smart! So logical in my kitchen with my no-crushed-ice-dispenser fridge! I beat the crap out of that ice for nearly 10 minutes! I beat it so hard on that butcher block counter that my blender toppled over from where it was standing three inches from my ice crushing paradise. As a bead of sweat rolled down my neck, I heard the blender blades whisper “fucktard”.

3. I had baked beans and Asian coleslaw for breakfast after a night of beers and pizza. WOOPS.

4. I told David I was ready to leave and he said “Good, meet me in Griffin at 6:30″ and then I had to tell him I was lying through my teeth and I would be there at like 8:30.

5. I cursed the sun while driving, squinting so hard that not even botox could take those forehead wrinkles out before realizing my sunglasses were on my head.

6. While getting out of my car, chattering away on my phone, I spend 5 minutes in a blind panic looking for the phone attached to my head.

7. I let my battery die in an area where I had zero phone service, a dead iPod and no driver’s license all so I could have a cherry Dr. Pepper from Sonic.

8. I’m so dehydrated said my body. MORE COFFEE chirped my brain! Bad, bad idea. Do not try this at home.

Samantha: Hebrew for scatter-brained

Oh how the weeks are flying past me, rustling my hair as they go. I feel so fulfilled, so exhausted at the end of each day from just living, from driving with the windows down, from planting a garden, from drinking free beer in my brand new Tim Hudson jersey at the Braves game, from dancing to Easton Corbin, from meeting his family and going to dinner, from seeing “Knight and Day”, from being happy.

My list of projects is morphing what I think about, what I plan for, what I talk about every day. I had mentioned to David all of these ideas I have and he said “You tell me the ideas, I’ll do the planning.” And God, that just makes so much sense. I’m not a planner. I’m a dreamer and a thinker and an . . . ideaer. I am the creative force in a room of executive businessmen. Let them worry about the hows and the whys. I’ll think about the whats. And David is my executive businessman.

So when Mama spent Saturday morning with us discussing her big plans for the backyard, we had David out there with a tape measure and a laptop open to the Home Depot website doing the planning. My mom and I are so much alike in that aspect. And in the idea that we both get these big ideas and we want to do them now now now, we’re impatient and excited and what do you mean we don’t have the money for all that fencing now? But thanks to David’s steady, logical mind, he reminded Mom and I that we can do a little bit at a time. We can pull out the weeds one day, pick out patio furniture the next and save for a few weeks to get that trellis for the backyard.

And so? Sunday morning found all of us out there, David, Tyler, Mama and me in the hot Georgia sun, finally filling up the planter we built six years ago. David had filled his truck with soil from his dad’s backyard and brought it up, but it took 15 bags of sand, an entire F-150 bed’s worth of soil and then an additional 30 bags of top soil from Home Depot to just fill the damn thing.

But guys? I have never felt so accomplished, so excited, so proud of myself as I did Sunday afternoon. After buying $20 worth of annuals (Impatients, Begonias, Mexican Heather), digging holes, planting them and watering them until they were soaking up every drop? I was ecstatic. I had completed a project. I had done something that I wanted for a very, very long time. I had dirt under my fingernails, my hair in a messy french braid and bun, a shirtless boyfriend rinsing my filthy feet off with the hose and a planter bursting with color to call my very own.

Is that not the corniest thing you’ve ever heard? What about painting “le jardin d’amour” on a rock and setting it in the middle of the garden? What if I told you that means “the garden of love” in French and I thought of that because the rock came from all the soil David loaded up?

What . . . what is that? Is that a BARF BAG? Asshole.

I’ve had a dream about my garden every night. I’ve woken up, made a cup of coffee and then ran outside to check on the blooms. I’ve watered them every day and searched for little trowels and sprayers to connect to my hose. I want a little garden gnome, a watering can and little potted plants to fill the back porch. I’m excited about this project and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger. It’s like, once I started on it, something that seemed so daunting at first? I can’t help but keep expanding on it! Like, I can obviously do it. It took a few hours on a Sunday with my favorite guy to complete one of my projects, one of my goals, one of my dreams. And you want your last kernel of Ultimate Corn? It’s like I can do anything as long as I’ve got my businessman with me to help plan it all out.

If I could find my USB cord for my camera, I would show you some pictures. But I can’t find it. Although to be honest, I haven’t looked that hard for it. I’ve been too busy soaking up the sun in my garden. My garden.

I’m a big fan of “inspiring” images and I have tons of pictures saved in an “inspiring” folder on my computer. One of them is just a giant quote, but the very last line of this particular one has been running through my head over and over and over. And it was compounded on Sunday while working outside and now I want it on a bumper sticker, on a flag outside my door, on a banner trailing an airplane just so I can inspire others:

This life is yours; when are you going to realize that you can do whatever you want?

Amen.

And now, if you will, witness a current breakdown of my mind. And when I say current, I mean it may not be this way in twenty minutes. ‘Cause I jump around like that.

Lately, I’ve had a lot of ideas. Except in the playground/amusement park/movie theater/Universal Studios backlot that is my head, it’s more like I’ve had a lot of IDEAS! And I’m getting these IDEAS! and running wild with them. My feet are tripping over themselves to keep up with my brain that’s saying “Ooh, let’s paint that quote and we could use these colors and we need to get that canvas and put it all together and ooh we could hang it above the vanity and ooh!” Actually, that’s more of what’s going on in my head. A lot of “OOH!” in a high pitched squeal with a little bit of my heart racing and feeling like I have to poop because I’m so excited.

Was that a bit much? I’m sorry.

My problem is that I get really excited about things like a painting or a costume I want to sew or a mini project I want to start and then I never do them. I don’t know what my problem is. When I was younger, I wasn’t this bad. I remember having the idea to put on a play in my front yard and invite the neighborhood to sit on the driveway and watch, but I never put it together. I had planned out the posters, the scripts, the dollar I would charge each person, the folding chairs I could set up in the driveway. I would ride in circles on my hand-me-down red Schwinn, talking to myself about the idea and getting excited about it, but I never did it. And I would say that this was a theme when I was younger, but I remember wanting to start a pet-sitting business, so I made my own flyers and walked up and down the neighborhood putting them in mailboxes and then waiting by the phone for the next two weeks, crushed that no one was calling. My optimism was strong even at age eight, people. Especially when I scrawled “no snakes or tarantulas” at the bottom of the flyer. I may have been an aspiring businesswoman, but I was no idiot.

So what’s my deal now? Laziness? Partly. I’m usually so lethargic on my days off that I don’t feel like doing shit. Lack of supplies? Yeah, I’m sure that doesn’t help. It’s hard to start your project of watching every Oscar Best Picture nominee when you don’t have your own Blockbuster queue yet. Are these things just more fun to dream about than to actually do? I hope not. I’ve had that feeling a lot before. That maybe the reason I’m such a big dreamer is because I appreciate the dreams more. Things go the way I want them to in a dream. There’s no failure, no risk, no worry. But while dreaming is my favorite hobby and can lead me to great things, it’s not the most important part. If you can dream it, you can achieve it, right? Well I need to get started on that achieving part before I do anything else. These ideas are things I want to do and I’m going to start right now.

“Ahem!” A List of Ideas & Projects by Samantha T. Darby The First

* Paint this quote on a canvas: “And in my dream, the angel shrugged and said ‘If we fail this time, it will be a failure of the imagination’. And then she placed the world gently in the palm of my hand.”
* Learn how to sew
* Start with the very first Oscar Best Picture nominees and watch all of them in order.
* Go on a “Movie Hunt”, like to see the bench from Forrest Gump and go to the Whistle Stop Cafe (which I have already planned: PROGRESS!).
* Paint this quote as well: “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.”
* Finish that book I’ve been working on!
* Make those shoe boxes and magazine racks.
* Write that eviction screenplay.
* Take a trip to Universal Studios!
* Plant a garden

. . . I can see now where laziness is playing a factor.

As far as John Cusack goes in that chart? Well, I just watched Sixteen Candles because it’s near my birthday, which is another part of that chart! And dude, I love that movie. Especially at the end when she comes out of the church and all the cars move and Jake Ryan’s right there and uhhh a humana humana! Anyway. All it takes is a smidge of Cusack and I’m on a Cusack Kick! So I’m about to pop in Say Anything as soon as Toy Story is done. And yes, I do watch a lot of movies on my day off, why do you ask?

Oh and that last little bit of the pie chart? Can anyone tell me why I can’t find a SINGLE Georgia peach in a grocery store? Do I have to stop at those fruit stands at gas stations for the entire summer? Because if I go to get one more peach at Ingle’s and am faced with a very very small selection of very very small California peaches? I’m gonna hasta la vista, baby the produce manager.

In other news? I partially learned to drive a stick shift yesterday and um . . . I’m a little sensitive when people are telling me what to do. I accused David of yelling at me when he told me to hit the brakes. Because I’m an idiot who thought that stick shifts could drive themselves? I don’t know. He says I’ve mastered the clutch, but I only did it twice and then I tried to help him shift gears from the passenger seat and I just put in neutral SO. I think I’ll stick with my little automatic Henry Honda for now. Unless Henry Honda starts hating me for the identity crisis I’ve given him. He used to be Jane Honda, then Peter Honda because I always get Peter and Henry Fonda confused even though Henry’s my favorite. So now his name is Henry Honda and that’s it, I swear.

Maybe I should add * find a therapist to my list of projects up there . . .

VICTORIES!

- I had much-needed BFF time with Emily & Grace Saturday night, including the consumption of an entire pot of edamame at 1:30 in the morning with enough salt to soak up all that oil in the Gulf. Also? I knew Emily was the Queen of Sodiumland, but I had no idea she was such an equipped queen. The girl brings chapstick to the table when she’s carrying the salt, okay? Salt is her hobby.

- I spent an awesome Father’s Day cooking for Dad and giving him the complete series of “Fawlty Towers” < insert announcer voice here > REMASTERED. And then we went to Best Buy and my birthday list gained another page and then I went to see someone very special and give him his first Father’s Day gift ever.

- My birthday is July 9th, but the celebrations have already started, people! Dad and Mom gave me the Conan tickets and Saturday night before the show, Kathy (our house manager) gave me the CUTEST singing birthday bag with an adorable “little black dress” martini glass inside. I don’t know what I did to deserve so many good and loving people in my life, but I won’t argue.

- The Monday after my birthday has also been planned as the day we will drive to Juliette, Georgia and eat at the Whistle Stop Cafe. And I can not even begin to explain how excited I am about this. Not only am I in love with trains and southern food, but there’s this little movie called Fried Green Tomatoes? I don’t know. Maybe you’ve heard of it. But it was a staple of my childhood summers spent at Granny’s house and I can not WAIT.

- We closed out Sketch is in the Air Saturday night and while it’s always a little sad to see a show end, I’m ready to enjoy my summer. I’m ready for Braves games and road trips and the beach and rollercoasters and camping and summer blockbusters.

- I am having a great hair day.

DEFEATS:

- My website looks like someone tossed it into a vat of ugly, wrung it out into a pile of disorganized and then beat it with a stick of POOPS MCGEE. I’m working on it though! Also? I’m going to change the name just as soon as I decide on one. Which could take 27 years depending on how distracted I get.

- Justin, one of my best good friends, moved to Los Angeles a week ago. I am so proud of him for going, especially because I had been planning on going too and didn’t, but I miss him. And I would say there is a smidge of jealousy, but I don’t know if that’s true. I will be there eventually, but I’m at least getting to do some acting here in Atlanta and getting more auditions from the agency, so I think it’s all good. For now.

- There is a lot of drama going on lately. And while none of it directly involves me, it still makes me furious. It blows my mind how selfish people can be. Maybe because I always think of others before myself, even when they don’t deserve it, but how can people be so mean? And be mean and hurtful on purpose? Are you really that insecure that you have to bring other people down? Do you really want to hurt people around you just to prove a point and be spiteful? Do you really want to take things that don’t belong to you, lie to get what you think you deserve and then turn around and preach acceptance and love? Word to the wise? It will bite you in the ass.

- My sunburn is peeling and itches like a mofo.

- I told my granny that I would so name a baby girl after her and my aunt and call her Millie Joe. Her response? “That sounds like a retarded person, Sam.”

This entry has been brought to you by The Really Trying To Stop Repressing Things Corporation. We appreciate your patience.

Sunshine and Dr. Peppers, country songs that give me chills, frappucinos in Barnes & Noble, compliments, hugs from my mama, buying the perfect Father’s Day gift, kissing that boy of mine, lunch with my little brother, blaring Katy Perry with the windows down, red toenail polish, apricot bodywash, gossiping with my best friend, cups of ice, sweet text messages, Sketchworks, my dogs, Conan O’Brien, rereading Lucille Ball’s autobiography, holding hands in his truck, planning mini roadtrips, back scratching, full tank of gas, telling bad jokes, big gaudy rings, singing so loud I grin…

Man, life is good isn’t it?

Jeopardy Categories In Which I Would Excel: A List by Samantha Darby

Ending Sentences With Prepositions
“What is ‘Mom, who did you get this cake for?’”

Wacky Sunburns
“What are splotches on my arms that feel like an ‘Indian Burn’, Trebek?”

Inspiring Life Moments
“What is seeing Conan O’Brien at The Fox Monday night?”

Monday morning did not leave me feeling satisfied. I was sore from the incredibly bronzed, sun-kissed Jennifer Aniston skin I had acquired Sunday, I was starving and desperate to put food into my not-so Jennifer Aniston body and I has having a bad hair day. It was such a Monday, you know?

But around 12:30, Dad showed up at the store with an envelope. He talked to me for a bit about the fishing I found time to do when I wasn’t busting my ass or inhaling river water and then he motioned me away from my register. “So you know your birthday’s in about three weeks,” he said as if I haven’t been keeping an hourly countdown since June. “Yessss…” I said, never taking my eyes off the envelope in his hand.

“Well your mom and I have to give you your gift a little early this year, so remember that when it’s your actual birthday. But here you go!” He handed me the envelope and like I always ask when handed a gift, I said “Ooh! What is it?” before ripping it open. And you guys? Inside was something I never expected to see, something that hadn’t crossed my mind as a possibility since I briefly mentioned it a few months ago. Inside were two tickets to see Conan O’Brien at The Fabulous Fox that night!

Best. Surprise. Ever. As Tyler apparently told Dad, it was a “Christmas-kinda surprise” and I had to agree. It completely came out of left field and I really did almost shit my pants (also predicted by Tyler). After thanking Dad over and over again, calling David to be my hot date and getting the OK to leave work two hours early, I was having a Friday, y’know what I’m sayin’?

The rest of the work day flew by in a blur and then I headed home to get ready. I ended up wearing my favorite orange halter dress and decided that it was in honor of Conan’s hair because that mane is just . . . exquisite. A guy on the street actually commented on it as we were walking to The Fox. “I love your dress! Just for Conan!” he said and I knew I had finally found my tribe. The Coco Tribe.

Before we headed down to The Fox, David and I went to The Varsity because he had NEVER BEEN. This is shocking to me. I mean, unfathomable. How can you live in Georgia your entire life and NEVER order a chili cheese dog with a Frosted Orange from a sixty-year-old waiter screaming “What’ll ya have?!” while wearing a red and white paper hat? You have not lived until you’ve gone to The Varsity. Not even because the food’s all that great (it’s just a colon clogger like most fast food places), but because it’s The Varsity. It may not be an American institution, but it’s definitely an Atlanta one and I don’t care what anyone says, it’s definitely one of my favorite gems in this city. When I told Dad that David had never been to The Varsity, he rolled his eyes and said “Ugh, where’d you find this boy?!” Which is the exact same look David’s dad gave me when I said “I skipped a rock for the first time today!” on Sunday. Different strokes for different folks . . .

Annnnnyway, so we pulled up at The Varsity, ate our dogs and shared a Frosted Orange, also in honor of Coco’s pompadour. Excited does not even describe what I was feeling. I was grinning like a buffoon, even after I got us lost in Tech Country (the Georgia Tech campus) when trying to get to the theater and would occasionally squeal “OH MY GOD WE’RE GOING TO SEE CONAN!” until David asked me to please calm down, his brain was hemorrhaging.

When we got to The Fox about an hour and a half before the show was supposed to start, we saw people everywhere. Restaurants and bars near the theater had signs out welcoming Conan fans and people were already wearing Team Coco shirts and heading towards the theater. We got in line with everyone else waiting on the doors to open and several TBS (Conan’s new home) people were standing around with clipboards, asking for survey answers about Conan to help with his new show. Atlanta is home to the TBS headquarters so I was glad to fill one out, citing my favorite thing about Conan and favorite segments of “The Tonight Show” and his old Late Show.

I think that was another big part of why I wanted to go see him so bad. I never watched “The Tonight Show” when Jay was the host. In fact, I only ever knew of the show because Dad’s such an enormous Johnny Carson fan. But when Conan was announced as the new host and he had his first episode a year ago (wasn’t it this month?!), I tuned in. And I laughed my ASS off. I remember I had just put my new bed together with the help of Tyler and I stayed up that Monday night to watch the entire episode. As a huge fan of Universal Studios, I adored that he was located on their backlot and laughed when he drove the tram tour around. But my favorite part was when he had his heart-to-heart with the audience and told them that he had watched “The Tonight Show” with Johnny when he was a little boy and that he had always said he wanted to host it one day. I remember he looked right at the camera and told anyone at home watching to never give up on their dreams because they will come true.

Call me a sap, call me a big giant pansy, call me a hopeless dreamer with her head in the clouds, but that was the coolest thing ever. In December, I submitted for tickets to go see “The Tonight Show” and actually got picked for three of them. Unfortunately, they gave me about two weeks in advance and there was no way I could get a ticket to LA and a hotel that quickly, so I had to let them go. Then when all that crap happened between him and NBC and Leno, I was furious and really upset that I never got the chance to see him.

But when I walked into that theater Monday night, that same feeling came back from a Monday night last June, when I watched him take his seat behind the Tonight Show desk for the first time. I was excited and nervous and completely ready to be inspired.

And oh my God, I wish everyone could’ve seen this show. From his opening act to Andy coming out and joining him and the videos he played throughout? Amazing. He brought back the Walker Texas Ranger Lever which he renamed the Chuck Norris Cop Handle because apparently NBC is trying to keep the rights to the Lever name. I completely forgot about that bit and dude. Who the hell seriously watched “Walker Texas Ranger”? Because that is some baaaad television.

He played guitar, he played piano, he sang songs and even brought Deon, one of his writers from “The Tonight Show” out to do some stand-up. He talked a bit about going through the stages of losing his late night talk show and when a crowd member yelled out “Leno sucks!” he responded with his famous Leno impression. We all died laughing and then he reprimanded himself and said “Just so you all know, for legal reasons, that was not an impression of who you think it was. That was my impression of the rapper Ludacris.”

The guy is just funny. Especially when he’s so quick to make fun of himself. Like, when he imitates a guy walking down a street, he’ll immediately make fun of the terrible impression he just did. And boy, that’s a lot of pronouns so I hope that made sense.

La Bamba was there as well and daaamn that guy can play some music. His whole band was awesome and while I was hoping for a Max Weinberg cameo or another special guest, we did get Evander Holyfield (as in HOLYLEFTFIELD? cause that made no sense to me) and Jack McBrayer (looove him!) to come out and support Conan. One of the best parts though? Hands down was when he said “You know, I like Atlanta. You’ve got the headquarters of a lot of places here! Like, the headquarters of Coca-Cola! And the headquarters of Delta! And you’ve even got the national headquarters of a liiiiittle company called TBS!” The crowd went nuts. I can not WAIT for him to be back on the air, especially with TBS (who, no offense Mr. Turner, but could really use some “very funny” they keep bragging about).

It was a fantastic night. From the Bacardi & Coke I had, to tweeting about it with the hashtag #tbyes and marveling at how many of us were in The Fox freaking out over Conan to spending a great night with David as he experienced the heart attack favorites from The Varsity and the laugh until you cry expertise of Conan O’Brien. Best way to start my 22nd birthday celebrations? I think so.

Seeing Conan just lit the fire under my ass all over again about chasing my dreams. Because even after all that shit he went through, he’s still out there doing what he loves. I think it was his opening act Reggie Watts that said something like “Do what you love. Forget about that job that you’re doing because it pays and because you’re good enough at it that you could one day move up. Forget all of that and just do what you love to do.” I squeezed David’s arm during that point and when Conan came out, all I could think about was his farewell speech on “The Tonight Show”.

All I ask is one thing and I’m asking this particular of young people that watch. Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism. For the record, it’s my least favorite quality. It doesn’t lead anywhere. Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get, but if you work really hard, and you’re kind, amazing things will happen. I’m telling you, amazing things will happen.

Talk about having class. Yeah, I’ll take Inspiring Life Moments for a thousand, Alex. I think I’ve got this one in the bag.

So, hey. I had a pretty awesome weekend. David took me on a fishing adventure Sunday and despite the Volkswagen bus sized horseflies that would BITE AND DRAW BLOOD, I had a great time. We blared country music on the way down, sipping on Mountain Dew and Dr. Pepper, our arms out the windows. It was hot out, a perfect Georgia summer day and I was seriously fighting off butterflies in my stomach, I was so excited.

I had been fishing before, but off a dock, on the back of a boat with one of those fishing rods (did he tell me it was an open or closed?) that you push a button on and cast out into the water. I’ve never had to wade from ankle deep water to waist deep lake water, holding a fishing rod in my mouth and trying to keep up with that redneck boy of mine as he jumped over rocks and pushed his way through a mossy current. I’ve never had to hear someone say “I ain’t gonna take you through that part, it’s too snake-y for me” and then expect me to bravely follow them through more muck.

But I had fun. Which apparently shocked the hell out of David. I also caught a fish! A bass! Oh man, I was so excited, couldn’t wait to reel that thing in and see what I caught and then as it flopped out of the water? The GUILT that hit me like a ton of bricks, people! Oh my God, I felt so bad. It was flopping in the air and its eyes were huge and scared and it would not stop staring at me. The hook was right through its lip and David wondered aloud how much it would hurt to have a hook through your lip and then have a fishing line pull you by your face into an environment where you would suffocate. So do you blame me for freaking right the hell out and begging David to throw it back into the water? Although I was immensely proud of myself. So was David, despite the fact that the first three minutes he was IN the river, he cast his line and caught one immediately that I also made him throw back.

We waded through more and more of the river, stopping to have a Dr. Pepper out of the cooler on David’s back (that he refused to let me carry, despite the fact that his shoulder was RAW from the strap) and share a Little Debbie StarCrunch. I caught my line on approximately 342035902 mossy rocks and once in a tree. I impressed the hell out of David by biting the head off of my own worm (fake bait! fake bait!), spitting it into the river and hooking it back on my line before casting it out again. About halfway through, we climbed onto some rocks and had a ham sandwich and some chips, feeling the sun on the back of our necks and shoulders.

SO. MUCH. FUN. Even when I tried to follow him up to another rock and slipped, falling right on my ass and skinning my shin and knee on the moss of another rock. Ohhh if I had a nickel for every time I busted my ass or for every time there was a loud splash of water followed by the sight of my flailing limbs and David laughing? I would have at least a dollar. David called it complaining, but I had made no guarantees that I would fish gracefully. I can barely walk on LAND without tripping over myself, let alone in wet shoes, socks caked in mud and clambering over rocks I can’t see.

We stayed out there for six hours. SIX HOURS! Six hours of fishing and laughing and sunburn and fighting off horseflies as our bug spray wore off.

And speaking of sunburn . . . I have the weirdest sunburn EVER. Describing it doesn’t even do justice. It’s just in like, random splotches all over my body. I guess from where the water washed the sunblock away? And it huuuurts. Especially on my forearms (just on the inside of my forearms and down my thumbs! I guess from holding the rod? . . . heh heh heh) and the back of my legs (sun reflecting on the water, perhaps?). Soooo here . . . a visual!

Let’s take a look here, shall we? My bikini top will forever be embedded into my skin from that glorious sunburn! The forearms hurt the worst and are a briiiight pink. There’s a little bit on my upper thighs and those tiny red marks? Yeah, that would be the stinging scratches that bruised almost immediately from my first ass-busting that scared every fish in twenty miles away.

Ahh yes. The back of my shoulders seems normal enough since I had my hair up in a bun the whole time, but the pièce de résistance, if you will, is the huge burn on the small of my back. Seriously, if you placed a lobster on that part of my back, you would not know where his body ended and mine began, that’s how red it is. And talk about hurting like a bitch. Especially Monday morning on my way to work when it had the cotton of my shirt and the velour of my seat to rub up against and get friendly with it (get friendly with it! na na na nanana, na na na na gettin’ friendly with it! . . . what? Not a Will Smith fan?).

But! Despite the retarded sunburn, the empty return (mainly because we didn’t catch enough to get cleaned/gutted, even though we named one Leroy) and the horrific walk back to the truck as three horseflies chased us the entire quarter of a mile, I had a blast. It was fun to be in his world, to do one of his favorite things and to be not half-bad at it. I think he was more shocked that I went, to be honest. But my philosophy is try it. If I don’t like it, whatever, who says I have to do it again? But I did! Although I don’t know if I’d go with him and his brother-in-law because I’m pretty sure I’d just slow them down and kill the sausage-fest bromance man . . . thing they’d have going on.

Oh and there was that tall, pale drink of water with the orange pompadour that I saw perform at The Fox last night on his last night of his Legally Prohibited From Being Funny on Television Tour, but that’s a story for another day. I still can’t quite get over that one . . .

The past couple of weeks have been . . . rough. There’s been a lot of tears, a lot of broken hearts, a lot of panic and a lot of chocolate and sweet tea. Which is probably why there are a lot of veggies in my belly now because, DUDE. All that weight maintaining I’ve done since February ‘09? It doesn’t take but a week or so of eating pure CRAP to undo it. Not an extreme undo, but enough to upset me. And when I get upset, I want chocolate and this is a vicious vicious cycle.

Where was I going with all of this? I wish I had made myself write more these past couple of weeks. I was scared to because so much of it was personal and it involved other people and it just didn’t seem like a smart idea. I’m a protector and a worrier. And as David has told me, “nice to a fault”. I am polite to people who don’t deserve it. I worry about people getting hurt despite the awful, awful things they have done to me. I forgive people quickly because I don’t want them to feel guilty. I suffer so that others don’t.

Admirable qualities? I think so. But at times, they’re constricting. Suffocating. Burdensome. They weigh heavy on my mind and they affect every decision I’ve ever had to make. How will this make Mama feel? Is Daddy going to be mad? What if I say how I really feel and Jason gets his feelings hurt? If I say I’m not in the mood to go out, will Emily be upset?

I think writing would’ve helped me lately. To write about why I’m up all night crying or why I’m so frustrated with rehearsals or why I felt so trapped. I can work my way through any problem by sitting down and writing through it. No stopping, no thinking, no organization or analyzing, just word vomit. Let it spew all over the pages, not bothering to clean it up or make any sense out of it.

. . . that was awfully graphic. Many apologies from me to you.

But I’m all out of plutonium, so there’s no going back (and if you don’t get that reference, shame on you). All I can do is start over. Clean slate. Back on track. Insert Other New Start Cliches Here.

All of this stuff that’s been going on has made a new person out of me. Remember a few posts back when I wrote about looking for myself? I’m really, really working on finding her. I’m falling in love with more and more things every day. Like sewing and doodling and painting and being outside. I have a fishing day planned on Sunday and I’m so excited about packing a lunch and spending all day with someone who wants to help me find this girl, too. I have an idea for a painting, an idea for a website, an idea for an outfit I want to MAKE. I have recipes I want to try, roadtrips I want to take, movies I want to see even if it is some awful chick flick romcom.

I still have the same dreams and aspirations, but I’m looking at them in a new light. I’m letting other people and their ideas about it vanish and I’m going to do it my way. And if that means taking the intensity off of it, then by all means that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve been so driven by my dreams that it actually had an opposite effect. It stressed me out and made it seem like a chore rather than a dream I’ve wanted my entire life. I just have to relax and take it easy with it and enjoy it. I’d completely forgotten about how enjoyable it is to live my dream, to tell these stories and to be on stage until I talked to David about it. He tells me he’s never met anyone that dreams as big as I do and that’s probably my favorite compliment I’ve ever received.

That’s the girl that was missing and that’s the girl I’m going to be again. I’m getting there, one step at a time . . . and I won’t lie. It’s extremely nice to have someone be on the same path as me. I’m used to being on my own cobblestone path, barefoot, concerned about which way to go and having someone on their own path with their own shoes and concerns. But now? Now I’ve got someone on the same step as me. And sometimes he may move forward a step or two, but he’s always looking forward, with his hand stretched out behind him . . . reaching for me.

So I shall throw my own welcome back party. Complete with a big bowl of broccoli, maybe another episode of “America’s Next Top Model” and a load of laundry. Because that’s what I feel like doing today so damn it, I’m going to do it.

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