Anxious Beast

Anxiety is something so native to my being I often find it hard to believe when people don't understand it. "What do you mean you just... do something?" I find it biting when they don't think it's real. "You mean you don't trust the thoughts in my head are actually happening the way the thoughts in your head are?" I find it daunting to try and explain it to the former, let alone the latter, but I just found the most brilliant and accurate illustration of anxiety on the face of this planet. Ladies and gents, The Anxiety Monster.

(Source unknown, but I'd love to credit the genius behind this.)

26 Gonnas for 26 is really about working on ignoring that ugly boogeyman. While I've started on a handful of the 26ers, I have to constantly battle the beast in my brain that says I can't do them. But as we always say here: oh, I'm gonna.

The Extraordinary

Everyone knows I'm not afraid to publicly discuss my life on this blog o' mine, at least to some generic extent. Everyone knows I try to say, if I can help it, just what I think, feel, don't feel, feel TOO MUCH, etc. However, this blog has shielded one section of my life a little because it's the section of my life I hold most dear, most private, most beloved. I mention my relationship from time to time because it's a HUGE part of my life, but you're not going to hear, say, what we ate for and talked about at breakfast this morning or what new life moment we experienced hand-in-hand last week. Sure, I let some details out here and there because I'm proud of who I'm with and what we've done, but all those details and intimate moments? That stuff is for us. That stuff is supposed to be just for us. That's the beauty of choosing to be with one person in a world of monogamist nay-sayers, conquering them and the world in general with your silent, yet steel-strength bond. You find love in a hopeless place, or better yet, actual privacy in a social media state.

However, most outsiders think having a life just for us is slightly abnormal, if not completely weird, and most puzzling, somehow an omen of dullness and/or unhappiness. So I'm here to set the record straight once and for all, and for one time only.

I am in love with my best friend. I have been for two years. We have lived together and apart. We have fought, and we have overcome. We have always been the topic of controversy, whether justly or truthfully so, yet we have always ignored the hell out of it. We have always been deeply in laughter as much as we are deeply in love, even when it looked like things were falling apart. We have never offered explanation nor description of anything; we have always, always, always been private. We have been private from the beginning because being private means having something special no one can touch or take away from you. Being private means being truly intimate with one person, not the world as a whole. Being private means being fulfilled within your relationship, not outside of it. Being private means discovering just how deep you love the person, not the idea of them.

Lest I hear another person ask me how this or that works in a now long-distance-but-barely-distanced relationship... it just works, alright? Do you want to know why? Because we talk to each other, not everyone else. We talk about everything, even the stuff that pisses us off, because when we wake up the next morning, everything we have said was to make the other person better. Make them happy. Make them know that just because there's a measly couple of hours between us, we still care about the other person more than anyone else, without agenda. And all the stuff we talk about, and do, and say, and plan, and dream in those conversations... we keep it to ourselves.

And you know what? That might not be ordinary to you, or ordinary period. But it is something. Something even better: extraordinary.

I'll share what I want to share when I want to share it. More importantly, I'll only share what I know he doesn't mind me sharing, because you know what's most important – more important – than this blog, than your opinion, than anything? Him.

Damn if that is not the best lesson he has ever taught me, and to learn it, the best decision I have ever made.

Happy 2 years, J. I love you and I like you.

26 Gonnas for 26!

Happy July, everyone! This is one of my favorite, yet busiest months. Birthdays, parties, holidays, vacations, and anniversaries like Oprah is handing them out -- one for you, and one for you, and one for YOU! I'm going to be on the run most of this month, but I won't leave you hanging without entries. However, they'll be on a sort of off-kilter timeline. Can ya dig?

With my birthday looming in a mere 11 (almost 10!) days, I decided to kick off the month with a birthday-related gonna challenge... for myself. I mean, overall, 25 was great. It had marvelous moments, but also dark ones. I went through a bit of a quarter-life crisis, and though I'm sure it's not completely done with me, the crisis is definitely on the waning end of a decline. But you know what? I'm ready for better than great; I'm ready for amazing.

After reading this article, it didn't take me long to figure out what I wanted to get myself for my name day: my break; my second chance. Sure, I overcame a few of the bigger gonnas I'd set up for myself in year two-five, but ever the perfectionist, I want to do better. Ever the believer of my own late bloomed-ness, I am hoping 26 is going to be my door-opening year. Every year after that will build on the success I hope know 26 will be. Happy sort-of-late-twentyhood to me!

1. Wake up with the sun at least 180 days over the next year.
2. Fly to visit my sister in Japan.*
3. Finish my screenplay.
4. Don't let items I have gathered to create a project sit on my shelf for more than 2 weeks... ever.
5. Diagnose and solve my voice problems, then sing publicly when I have the all clear.
6. Get my teaching license.
7. Write one blog every week!
8. Learn to drive a manual car.
9. Make 50 YouTube videos.
10. Get over my fear of heights by climbing a lighthouse, ziplining, both, or more!
11. Teach someone something life-changing. **
12. Make a Southern road trip to Texas and back.*
13. Finish writing a book with C.
14. Learn how to sew.
15. Go legit camping for a weekend with J and the pups.
16. Spend more time with my family. **
17. Do some photoshoots (at least one!) with a professional photographer.
18. Get something published.
19. Raise $500 for my business, Southern Sheek.
20. Do a Goodwill-level cleanout every 3 months until I only have what I (for the most part) need.
21. Let go of toxic people in my life.
22. Make a weekend trip to a new place, any place.
23. Write and send fanmail to all those people who have inspired me along the way.
24. Meet a sloth!
25. Really make 10 people's day - five of whom I know and five strangers.
26. Be thankful and say so at the end of every day.

* Money allowing.
** Specifics to come when I figure it out!

I'm gonna do this! What are y'all gonna do this year?

I WON?!?!?!

Do y'all remember this post?

... I'll give you a minute ...

Well, lo and behold, my look (and therefore this blog) was one of the winners of Kate Walsh and Bloglovin's Boyfriend Look contest. I'm stoked to be getting her Boyfriend perfume, but more stoked to have a great woman of substance like Kate select my look AND give the blog a little free publicity in the process.

Check out the scent and Kate's site.

Oh, and if you're new here, check out my blog... and tell Kate I said thanks for being one f'awesome, beautiful lady! ;)

xx,

Rachel

The Most Important Entry Ever!

... technologically speaking.

Google Reader is saying bye-bye in a few weeks. I don't really mind because it's always been much too hard to find and follow blogs in GR anyway. I've just used my subscription feed below my blog management tools.

But guess what? That's going away, too. Nothing is going to show up anymore when you sign in to read your favorite blogs! That means the blogs following you, as well as the blogs you follow, will all just disappear as if they were abducted in the middle of the night.

I don't want to lose any of my readers, and I most certainly do NOT want to miss out on reading your blog entries, so I offer the following suggestions:

1. Subscribe to my blog by email now. It's really easy. If you look to the right, there is an area to enter your email right underneath my social media links. You get an email when I write a new blog when and nothing else. Voila!

2. Put your blog on Bloglovin' and follow all your favorites there, too! It's what I've been using now for months, and recently just started following all of you there instead of on my Blogger feed. If it seems daunting or confusing, I promise it's the best thing that will ever happen to you. It's so sleek and easy. You can follow anyone's blog just by copying and pasting the blog's homepage hyperlink into the search bar. (You can categorize, too! Ahh, just awesome.) Here are some other bloggers explaining it all much better than I:

{1/2/3/4}

I hope to still see everyone around after this big change on July 1. And hey, if you forget to make whatever switch suits you best, find me on social media or the blog email – I'll help you step-by-step.

Love y'all!

My Father is Actually Sirius Black

Look at him.

Now look at Sirius, or read his description in the book.

Twinsies, right?

Like Sirius and James Potter were, my father, too, is schooled in the ways of silliness.

Okay, maybe these don't capture his essence of silliness that well if you don't know him, but trust me... HE'S UP TO SOME FUNNY BUSINESS!

He is also quite skilled in the arts of sneakiness and hiding, skills Padfoot honed at Hogwart's, but later found useful when on the run from demonic Dementors/all of the wizarding world.

As you can see, I don't really have the best arsenal of sneaky pics. That's because he's so sneaky (and because my stash of photos is actually at my mom's).

He lived in England. SO DID SIRIUS! He went to a school that was, um, BASICALLY Hogwart's. Here he is visiting a place in Ireland that looks sort-of-but-not-really like both.

Just like Sirius, my dad is a scholar but admits to goofing off much more than studying...

...and really thrives off of the good adventure more than the good book.

He used to work at this library in Liverpool (scholarly), then returned to visit (ADVENTURE-Y)!

And – SPOILER ALERT, BUT IT CAME OUT LIKE 8 YEARS AGO – if Bellatrix hadn't killed her cousin and robbed Sirius of his life (RIP!), Sirius would have been the best dad to Harry. And just like the Sirius I believe still lives on behind the veil, my dad has been the best dad to me!

If you look closely, you will see my father's hands. I am crushing him with my then 24-year-old wine drunk weight. GOOD DUDE!

Oh, and also, he's ACTUALLY a wizard.

Happy birthday and Father's Day, Papa Bear!

A Tale of Woe

I wish I had the comedic efforts of Allie Brosh to aid in this tale, but alas, I am not in a place of creativeness; if I were, could I even begin to write/illustrate something as magnificent, yet touching, as these entries? I hope so, but know the answer is "LOL, probably not, girl."

On with the tale...

It all started sometime last year, when I started feeling something of a quarter-life crisis. I was happy with the good parts of my life, but couldn't shake the funk of the bad parts. In fact, I often let the stuff bothering me eclipse the stuff that made me smile. It left me in a series of funks, but every time I found my way out, so I figured it was just self-pity or a part of growing up.

Not so long ago, I felt better for a lengthier period of time than I had for as long as I can remember. My life started to go on an upswing: I figured out some of what I wanted to do and who I wanted to do it with. I felt mostly okay, but there would always be something...

That something was and is normally me overthinking any and everything. It's how I've always been, and on occasion, it can be helpful. But there are the other times, most times, when I overthink something that has little importance in reality, or overanalyze someone's actions for stupid reasons. Times when I can't stop the thoughts, as irrational as they sound even to myself. Times when I can't find happiness or any other emotion, even when I want to.

via Hyperbole and a Half

I alternate between non-stop movement and sloth-like slowness, physically and mentally speaking, both accompanied with this astounding fatigue that feels like it has been here since I was born. I am never quite manic, but I'm never quite depressed either. Must mean the irritability, the paranoia, the anxiety, the sadness, the nothingness, the tiredness, and all the ups and downs and in-betweens must be normal, right? It's totally normal to feel nothing about a new job. It's totally normal to slouch in non-productiveness all day because you feel like an ocean is sitting on top of you. It's totally normal because it's not noticeably or dangerously abnormal. Right? RIGHT?!

I'll take wrong for $500, Alex.

After a series of events and lots of chats with my truth-sayer, I realized the reactions I have, while somewhat a part of who I am, are still not necessarily normal. It's like I have a five-course Brinner in front of me all the time and I just think, "Huh, I really could care less about the delicious and copious ways in which crispy bacon has been utilized in this meal." But then sometimes I think "THERE IS NO WAY THIS IS MINE. SOMETHING MUST BE WRONG. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING HIDDEN UNDER THIS TABLE! THE CHEFS ARE PROBZ POISONING ME! GOOD BRINNER JUST DOESN'T FALL INTO MY LAP!" And other times I'm like "Oh, man, I really hope all the animals that died to make this didn't have large families, and golly, I really hope these carbs don't clog my arteries and give me a heart attack, and SHIT, I should probably make sure that everyone else at Brinner has their meals taken care of first, and OMG! I can't believe the chef hasn't come out of the kitchen to check on us yet. Do you think he's okay? He's probably burning alive."

It's exhausting to read. It's exhausting to write. It's exhausting to live. I mean really, who can't just sit back and enjoy the bacon, no matter the circumstances? You should be able to... but I can't. Why?

In good faith, I headed to my always-trusty Internet to start investigating the process of fixin'-uppin'. After a few duds, I found a somewhat decent and free online test to take to begin to narrow down what my mind's ailment could be. I knew I couldn't be bi-polar, but everything seemed somewhat similar; a distant cousin of the disorder perhaps. And while I did score high on said disorder, I also scored high on something called Cyclothymia.

To be crass, cyclothymia is like bi-polar lite. If bi-polar were the Catholic church, I'd be Episcopalian. Of course, I have to be diagnosed. I have an appointment to chat with my trusty psych later this month to hopefully do that, but I honestly don't know what the course will be. I do know that it's a step.

That step is a crucial one, but it's not where this journey starts, and most certainly not where it ends. I also have to start making decisions that make me happy, and more importantly, decisions simply to be happy -- a hard fight, but one I think I can win. And this happiness must be based on my own notions, not some pre-described ones my friends, or my family, or even society as a whole may try to force upon me. I need to find my happy to find my way back to myself.

So goes my tale of woe. I know it's not the worst there's ever been, nor the worst there will ever be. But I do think it's an important tale to tell because as someone who has lived it for a long time, it can be really hard to admit to yourself something is wrong. It can also be even harder to notice something is wrong to begin with. Luckily, I have a person to kick my ass in gear, but if you don't... well, here I am:

Get your ass in gear! Take a test. Call a number. Make an appointment. Mental health is still health. E'rrybody got time fo' dat.

My Mom v. Diane Keaton

Well, I had drafted parts of this before Mother's Day with every intention of doing a cutesy, yet somewhat humorous, shoutout to my Moms. But then finals week slammed me, and my alma mater aka my sister's undergrad school decided to hold her graduation ceremony ON MOTHER'S DAY...... rude. RUDE!

But this comparison is one well known among our family and friends, one that my sister and I make as often as possible, especially when we find some new and hilarious way in which my mother and Diane Keaton are alike. (Wait, did I say alike? 'Cause I'm pretty sure they are one.) So even though Mother's Day has come and gone, this oldie but goldie comparison model is one that is here to stay.

1. They both get hilarious after a glass of wine.

2. They both dressed like this in the 70s. (Mom would want me to note that she dressed this way before "Annie Hall" was even a glimmer in Woody Allen's eye.)

My sister can look like young Woody sometimes, but that's another entry...

3. They both look like this now.

4. They are both neurotic, but in that adorable Diane-Keaton-as-an-overprotective-frazzled-mom-in-a-movie way.

5. Did I mention they look alike?

6. Goofs (by themselves, or as pictured, with their pals).

7. No, but I mean like, seriously, they're both from Planet Babe.

8. They are both strong, smart, creative women who note the importance of skincare, education, women's (and others') rights, cute fashion, and how dumb men can be.

LUV U LADIES!

The Truth About Grad School

Thinking about grad school? Laughing about the fact that I'm IN grad school? Well, whatever the case may be, here are six things I learned during my first semester in upper-level education:

END OF SEMESTER GLORY!

I'm as brain dead as a bird who flew into a window, but I'm so excited to have an entire summer ahead of me with time to write and write, then read and read. That day ain't today, because I'm going to watch some shitty T.V. while passing out... babysteps, you know? In the mean time, enjoy some photos of times recent and get ready for some scribblings in the very near future!

Boston

As a blogger, I feel like I'm required to write about Boston. However, I didn't want to write about it at all really, at least not until all the facts were fleshed out.

I was in class when one of my classmates announced the news. She said she wanted to prepare us and let us know in case anyone had family in Boston. It was scary to hear, but heartwarming that a classmate wanted to give us time to build a levy for the incoming onslaught of anxiety, fear, and media coverage.

As soon as I got home, I surfed the Internet in friendly places for answers. I didn't go to CNN or Fox News; I went to Tumblr, a place I know is safe for people of all walks of life and an overall supportive community. I knew there I would only find helpful information and a distinct lack of racial profiling regarding who had actually done the bombings. It was sad to see such gruesome images on the site, but it was heartwarming to find messages of hope, links to help, and stories of heroic acts rather than finger pointing.

I stayed away from the media coverage after that. It didn't matter to me the religion, or race, or whatever unimportant details people would focus on about the person or people who bombed those runners; what mattered was healing, lending a helping hand, leading a fair investigation, and recognition of those who were heroes in a true moment of horror.

Since then, all I know is the ethnicity of the suspects at hand has been discussed far too much than is appropriate. I have heard both that one and/or both of the suspects were killed during a city-wide shutdown and manhunt. I have heard there were robberies, more murders, more suspicious packages, more paranoia, more fear. I don't know what to believe because everything is contradictory and fueled with emotion.

To be honest, that's why I don't care what the present facts are. That's why I'm still not really talking about it. I'm more interested in waiting for information fueled solely on facts. Until everyone can take a step back and objectively look at what happened, the information we get will be tainted, biased. It will be injected with our hurt, our anger, our fear, our sadness, our political opinions. That's not healthy or helpful for media messengers or receivers.

And even as a blogger, one I hope you all view as somewhat informed, I feel it's my duty to remain quiet about the whole thing until some clarity can come. It won't arrive for a while, and that's okay. We need time to be angry and grieve. We need time to investigate. But first and foremost, we need to take this time to take care of each other instead of blaming one another.

My thoughts and heart have been with Boston since this happened, but my words? My words have been locked safely inside, waiting for the day when writing about the events of April 15, 2013 will be objective and fact-based. Until then, I hope everyone finds their peace and helps if they can.

Freak Out

Copying my lovely Kacey on this one. I love the idea! Sometimes we get so caught up in being "normal" that we don't pay enough attention to the differences that make us... us. Without further ado, what takes me to a level of visceral hate and/or horror that other people seem to LOVE + a couple'a things I actually DO love... probably far much more than the average human.

HATIN' IT:

- Mayo. Seriously, why? WHY? It's disgusting AND scary, and for some reason, you can't get anything in the South without it. Just yesterday I threatened the crew at Firehouse Subs with a punch in the face if they put mayonaise on my sandwich. I wish I were exaggerating, but I'm not.

- People who don't understand feminism/women's rights. Seriously, who are you?

- Taylor Swift. NO ELABORATION NEEDED! Ugh.

- The Big Bang Theory. The show, not the actual theory. Whereas I find the scientific theory riveting, the show makes me want to bang my head in, pun intended.

- Talking about childbirth. I am not interested/am utterly disgusted.

- The Twilight series.

- Homeland. I've watched 3 episodes and believe it to be legitimately horrible, besides Mandy Patinkin.

- Inconsiderate, unsafe drivers.

- PEOPLE WHO DISRESPECT THE TEACHING PROFESSION!

LOVIN' IT:
- Cleaning. It gives me this really strange sense of peace. If I get overwhelmed with school work or life in general, I just zone out doing the dishes or something. Zen and the Art of Housework Maintenance?

- Basically every sci-fi/fantasy/action/comedy fandom on the planet. Like this kind of thing.

- Strong females, like Beyonce, Leslie Knope, and Daenerys Stormborn.

- Abbreviating things that don't actually need to be abbreviated.

- TAKING SELFIES, OKAY?!

- Cheap champagne.

- Southern springs, summers, and falls.

- THE N64!

- My peoples.

- Lists, but this one could go on for weeks, so I'll end here. Cheers!

SPOILER ALERT!

Daenerys Targaryen is a Bad. Ass. Bitch.

1. Just look at her. Look at her. LOOK AT HER!

2. After her psychotic, idiotic brother sold her into marriage, she decided to become a true member of the people to which she was now queen Khaleesi.

3. SHE DECIDED TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THIS SEXY ASSHOLE.

4. She ate the heart of a god damn horse.

5. She is a firm, but gentle leader. Like, she'll save your life from rapists, but if you use black magic to kill her husband, she'll like... burn you alive.

6. She WALKED INTO A FIRE AND DIDN'T DIE OR EVEN GET BURNED. Oh, and she emerged with a few DRAGONS.

7. She led the people she inherited from her husband through desolate wasteland instead of abandoning them for her own sake.

8. She took on a bunch of really weird, obviously wine-addicted warlocks to save her dragons children.

9. She locked a bunch of traitorous assholes inside an empty vault to die, then stole all their money because they sucked.

10. SHE JUST BOUGHT A CITY'S ARMY, TURNED THEM AGAINST THE CITY, BURNED THEIR LEADER ALIVE WITH A DRAGON, THEN FREED ALL THE MEMBERS OF THE ARMY...... AND THEY DECIDED TO FIGHT FOR HER ANYWAY.

Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, you are my hero now and forever. No one will institutionalize me if I start acting with even half this badassery and power, will they? Alright, good. Now that that's settled, I'm off to take back the Iron Throne...

Or go to sleep. Same thing, right?

This Day Is Stupid

This day has been hard for me since I was 17. It was the day I first permanently lost something I thought I'd have forever and experienced the accompanying long heartbreak with that kinda thing.

But I knew I'd be okay because what I'd had, for the time I had it, was 100% different and special from anything else on the planet. I lost my best friend, but knew that in the time I'd had with him, we'd made it the best it could have ever been. I knew I'd find the same kind of knock-you-off-your-feet love again, and I'm so lucky to say I have.

Then this day got harder when, four years ago, my cuddly bear of an uncle passed away. This day – the 20th – the day of his birth, became a hard reminder that he wasn't ticking off another year on the calendar like the rest of us.

But I knew I'd be okay. I knew the whole family would be okay because we had each other, we had our humor, and we had dimes of hope sent to us every time we needed one. We'd always have the gash, but it would sting less and less over time as we held each other together, even if only with Scotch tape.

Oh, but this day wasn't done with me. I thought the double-whammy would be enough, but the 20th said, "Hey, let's have another go, shall we!?" So as I was on my way up north this morning to see my ailing Pop-Pop, my grandma called to say he was already gone. My sweet, hilarious Pop-Pop, who was always there to tell me how gorgeous he thought I was when I was feeling down and how much he loved me, no matter how I was feeling.

I guess this is where I should write "But I know I'll be okay, and I know my family will be okay..." but I'm not at the place right now. I'm not sure how I feel about the triple threat of grief this day brings. I am sure even while having this great support group of folks I do, April 20th will always be marred with a gray blob on my calendar. Most of all, I am sure that I will always miss three of the most important men in my life.

RIP JTW, JLG, & LAG