squishisms.com

My first instinct is to go with Undapants.  Mainly cause I like to say “Undapants.”   (Really, I like the expletive “PANTS!” as well, but that’s neither here nor there…)

But, really, I am rather on distinctly Unfriendly terms with all things pants-related at the moment… soo…..

In the last year I have come to realize precisely how many people Understand me.  Who are Unsurprised by the things I do or say, or -more importantly- the way I react to things.

According to Facebook I have 93 friends.  Some of those are duplicates – “dummy” or “safe” profiles.  Some are family. Some are more friends of Robbie than me… Some are people, honestly, that I just haven’t deleted yet because it was easier to just hide them in my feed.  There aren’t many of those though – I purged the list not too long ago of anyone I felt didn’t deserve that level of access to my life.  I deleted a LOT of people who did not Understand me.  People who judged me for things I said or items I ’shared.’  People who were determined to change me.  People who would not admit they didn’t really like ME, but instead were enamored with the character they believed me to be.  People who expected me to not care, or disregard, things that affected me on the deepest, most primal levels.

And yet…93 people are still there.

Ninety Three.

That’s staggering to me.  Someone once predicted that I would never be truly known and loved.  That anyone who truly got to know me would running, screaming, in the opposite direction.  I used to believe that with entire heart and soul.  I wagered on it.  I’m pretty sure I owe at least a couple people a hundred bucks because they’re still here…. years later.  (shuddup Jeremy.)  I was convinced the character flaws were mine.  That the reason I was going through roommates like toilet paper was somewhere inside *ME*.  Just me.

I was wrong.

I Understand that now.  Because so many people, so many of YOU, Understand me.  And have helped me Understand myself.

It’s a cycle, but a beautiful one.

I’ll take it.

I am 28 years old.  Three of my closest friends, my inner circle, are Quadragenarians.  These women steady me.  They ground me.  They have no Qualms about calling me on my shit.  They have a decade more experience navigating this Quagmire called Life than I do, and they share it freely.  They don’t tell me I’m too young.  They don’t Question my knowledge of my Self.  I love them, and am grateful they are in my life.

That I love and appreciate a particular Ms. Quello goes without saying, methinks.

Quaker is now making High Protein and High Fiber Oatmeals in delicious flavors.  This I am also grateful for.

I am grateful for Quiet Saturday mornings with my dog and a book on the chaise.  I am grateful I can almost see the definition of my Quadriceps again.  I am grateful that in high school my Math teacher taught me a song to remember the Quadratic Equation.  (Okay, maybe not, but ‘Q’ is hard, dammit.)

I’ve never had quail and I’m honestly not a fan of quiche…

Um….. Q is hard.  /pout

Questions?

O is for Orange Juice.  Which, if you know me, you understand I don’t drink.  At least, I didn’t use to.  However, in the last year I have been introduced to the beauty that is a mimosa.  And you can’t have a mimosa without Orange Juice, now can you?  Orange Juice also goes in my protein smoothies that Robbie makes me after we work out.  It is now a staple grocery on our list and I am glad to have found new ways to love and appreciate it this year.

It might also be for Orgasms, the quality of which has never been so good as it has in the last year.  But we’re tryin to stay family friendly here, folks, so that’s all I have to say about that.

I wanted to say Open Minds and Open Hearts, but Jane Seymore ruined it for me.   Having an Open Heart, to me, is about more than just “love finding it’s way in.”  Even if Love doesn’t, there are other equally valuable things that come from keeping your heart Open.  Humilty, Knowledge, Grace, Patience…  all good things learned when one keeps their heart Open.

I am grateful for the Opinions around me, 90% of which seem to differ from mine 90% of the time.  I will always call it chili, even if there are beans in it.  Meat/Tomato Stew like substance = chili.  I will now and forever maintain that Sarah Palin is not a woman and might possibly be the Antichrist.  I do not hate Obama, and can appreciate what he is trying to do.  I’ve wanted to move to Sweden for YEARS because they have socialized healthcare.  I LOATHE the Cowboys, the Spurs, and UT sports in general…  And yet somehow, I live in Texas.  With a LOT of good friends who believe differently than I do on all those counts with their entire being.  Having Opinions that differ from mine challenges me, tests the courage of my convictions.  Opinions make me think “What if?”  They make me consider an alternative… and I like having considered all sides before choosing my own.

…is for Kisses. Get your mind out of the gutter. I said Kisses not foreplay or making-out. Just simple, Kind Kisses. I LOVE Kisses. They are not implicitly sexual to me. In Squishtopia, Kisses are chaste. Kisses are platonic. They CAN be sexual, but typically – aren’t for me. Kisses are demonstrative affection. Loving Out Loud. The simple act of placing one’s lips to another person’s forehead. Or cheek. Or lips. Kisses from a friend. From Robbie. From my puppy. Puppy kisses may get their own blog I love them so much. If you aren’t aware, Bauer was being beaten by the previous owners, and was afraid to do anything – ESPECIALLY lick a person. His Kisses mean the world to me. They mean he trusts me. They mean he is starting to feel safe in our home. In addition to being happy to see me and/or concerned for my emotional state. And despite giving up Kissing my girlfriends this last year, I have had no lack of Kisses. I would almost say that in the last year I have had more Kisses than any other single year, or possibly even two, ever in my life. I am blessed with Kisses.

And I almost forgot Karaoke. I don’t get to go very often anymore. And, to be honest, it’s not the same fun that it once was… but it’s still there. Still exactly the same as it was five years ago when I started going. Oh, the TVs are bigger and the Karaoke itself is all digitized now…but the atmosphere is the same. It’s a tiny little place packed to the brim with “WeDon’tGiveAFuck.” So many things, so many people in my life have changed in the last few years. They’ve started having to care about being at the “Right” bar with the “Right” people in the “Right” atmosphere and wearing the “Right” clothes… and maybe it’s because I am still a peon…maybe it’s because, at heart, I really am just a little on the trashy side… but I haven’t made that transition. I cannot play the Kissass game. I’m bad at it. It makes my head hurt. To be blunt, it disgusts me. And I hate myself every second that I am attempting to play it. Karaoke is my refuge. My sanity. It is raw and gritty and ugly and offkey and unashamed of any of it. I can go in a party dress or a Tshirt and jeans and be equally accepted the moment I walk in the door. And I will always appreciate and be grateful for that.

*ahem*

…Moving right along…

Today seems like a fine time to discuss Grace.  Not the Grace you say before eating, or the Grace that allows one to dance as if on air…  but the Grace to see past transgressions and shortcomings.

As defined:

Grace:

Noun:  a disposition to kindness and compassion; unmerited favor.

Typically this is used in a Christian context – i.e.: “There but for the Grace of God go I.”  While I was in my Jesus phase, I spent many, many hours in prayer requesting Grace.  I was told over and over how “His Grace cover{ed}” me.  And even though I no longer count myself among the ranks of Christianity – I am still acutely aware of the Grace in my life.

I am not an easy person to love.  I am brutally honest, and often explosive (as demonstrated yesterday), with my emotions, uncommunicative and stubborn.  I will not let you cheer me up if I am angry or sad, and will probably get mad at YOU for trying to distract me.  I hate to admit I am wrong and, though I will do so eventually, I will probably spend a few hours pouting about it first.  I am overly-sensitive, especially about all-things-Robbie-related.  I am painfully aware of the balance in any relationship.  Time, money, effort, whatever – and it makes me ridiculously uncomfortable when my friends come to see me more than I go see them, or vice versa…or pay for dinner…or who answers their phone/returns voicemails more often…  mostly because I tend to be the one coming up short.

And yet in the last year I have been made acutely aware of exactly how many people DO love me; whose Grace covers my transgressions against them.  The number of people I have who don’t keep track, don’t count, don’t measure – don’t even care if I forget to say “Thank you,” is astounding.  There are, in fact, so many that I have started to notice the people in my life who DO measure – and I find myself annoyed by it… even though I am one of them.

Grace has never been one of my own strong points.  But it is hard to acknowledge one’s own hypocrisy.

One of my bridesmaids is the personification of Grace.  She always knows what to say in any social situation.  She puts people at ease and makes them happy without even trying.  She is thin and lithe and moves like a dancer.  Her husband is the exact opposite.  And she likes to remind me how much alike he and I are.  I think if anyone else had compared me to him – I would have shut them down and told them all about themselves as well…  I would not have accepted it, thought about it.  I would have been too angry at them for suggesting it to consider it.  But, coming from this woman, whom I have come to love and admire in a lot of ways in a very short period of time, I took it.

I am Grateful for her.  Grateful that I have gotten to know her.  Grateful that she, and people like her, are part of my life, and are Graceful enough to tell me about myself without stepping on the buttons that would shut me down before I heard them.  And that they have Grace enough to love me despite myself, to forgive me my faults even as I am planting my foot firmly in my mouth.