Go, RANDOM TEAM!

     I always get excited about adding things to my bucket list. Most items are years away or are currently being saved up for little by little, or just waiting for Dolly Parton to go on tour. So, I add little things that, once accomplished, can inspire me to keep going and trying new things.
     I know I have some rare form of ADD where I get distracted and lose track of these great ideas I have, but at least I try, and that seems to be enough for me.
    So, with the Royals enduring yet another losing season and the Chiefs unable to live up to expectations (again), I think it's time to expand on my athletics knowledge.
     Don't misunderstand, these two teams will always hold a special 'you're a local team so I have to want you to win' place in my heart, but if I branch out, watch different teams from different parts of the country, I could learn a lot more, and maybe even be able to hold sports-related conversation with men who will then assume I'm a lesbian (jokes!) or I'll increase my level of hot.
     Here's the goal: pick random sports teams from the MLS, NHL, NBA, NFL, and MLB. Follow them an entire season. Learn more about a team, learn more about a sport, appear 'hipster' because I'm not cheering on the most obvious of teams (also, I will never see 'Avatar' or read '50 Shades of Grey', this is only related to the 'appear hipster' clause.)
     I've done a lot of research on teams...Okay, I've wikipedia-d a lot of teams. I used a few guidelines to choose including; geography, team history, players, and coaches. My older sister and her husband living in Seattle definitely had an affect on a few team choices, just as my little sister and her husband living in Alabama has resulted in my cheering on Bama football the past 3 seasons (Roll Tide!)
     THE CHOICES:
I'll start with soccer. I went with my local Kansas team, mostly because they're incredibly fun to watch and they've been dominate;
MLS: Sporting KC. BOOM. Next-
NHL: I went with the Vancouver Canucks off a recommendation from a my friend Dave. They're a great team and made it to the Stanley Cup finals in 2011. Hockey will most definitely be the hardest sport for me. I've never played and never really followed it. But how much cooler am I now that I have team? Once the lockout is over, I can begin my journey into a sport where fighting is encouraged! Just look at that bloody face!

MLB: Sticking with the northwest here, Seattle Mariners. I love the city of Seattle. I love visiting my sister there. I realize the Mariners aren't that great, probably about the same as cheering for the Royals, and Seattle has never really had great sports teams, but it makes it fun to cheer on a team in my sister's city.
  If this old lady can love the Mariners, so can I!

NBA: OKC Thunder. Not only does my first Jayhawk love Nick Collison come off the bench, but Kevin Durant has been fun to watch since his year at Texas. Add Westbrook, Harden, and Ibaka, coached by Scotty Brooks, and I'm a happy fan.

NFL-It's already into week 5 and, while I have the team picked out, I'm not too sure I want to admit it. The NoLA Saints haven't won a game and they had that whole bounty thing...Probably not a really solid team to choose, but I love Drew Brees...in all the ways a women should love him. He's got the scar, the Super Bowl ring, the adorable kid, the Nyquil 'Quarterback sacked' commercial, and he's one game away from breaking Johnny Unitas' 52 year old consecutive games with a touchdown pass record. He's a solid quarterback. Whether the team is a solid pick, that's questionable. But I'll still cheer them on.  
     So, there's the list. Not incredibly diverse with 2 local teams, but solid choices for sure.
     It'll be fun to get behind a team and cheer them on for a season. I do that anyway with Kansas basketball, so why not try to make the feeling last all year? Bottom line, I really love sports and I'm a tad competitive, so hopefully, this goal will only add to my ever-longing need to win (but with the Saints and Mariners on my side, it might just teach me to accept loss.)

GO CANUCKS, MARINERS, SPORTING, SAINTS, and THUNDER! (also, how funny is 'Canucks'?)

   
   

You Can Call Him Al

     My family has always had pets in our house, from dogs and cats, the hamster, fish, frogs, and a guinea pig. The fish never lasted very long, the guinea pig smelled, and the frogs creeped me out.
     We were incredibly creative with names, too. Our guinea pig was Willow (he squealed like he was constantly dying), our hamster's name was J.R., it stood for 'Jill Rachel', named after myself and my little sister. My older sister found out within the last year and she was devastated her name wasn't included, however, at the time, she had her frogs, Forrest and Jenny. J.R. froze to death in a winter storm that knocked out the power in our town. He's currently buried in a popcorn box in our back yard.
    Why our parents let their old, European style, antique-filled home be a farm of random, smelly animals, I'll never know. But, I'm incredibly thankful they did.
     Pets are automatic friends. And it's a nice feeling.
     My life started off with a white, fluffy dog. She was an American Spitz named Puff. She'd been around since I was born. Puff was a gift from my dad to my mom as an engagement present in 1980, so really, she'd been around 6 years before I was even born.
     Until third grade, she accompanied me on adventures in the backyard, roamed around the house with me when I was bored, and slept on the couch when I was sick. She was a great dog to start my childhood with.
     On a cold day in third grade, my sisters and I took a trip out to the vet with my parents. Puff was 13, old, partially blind, and had a lot of wear in her joints. She didn't move around as much as she used to, and she had made a family has happy as she could. My sisters and I walked back into a concrete area where she was lying, gave her a few pets, shed a few tears, and left incredibly sad. The vet, along with my parents, decided it was time for her to go.
     The year gap in between dogs made me feel anxious. I don't remember a whole lot, because I was pretty young, but I remember wanting a dog, wanting to come home from school after a bad day to someone wagging their tail and happy to see me. To lick my face and cuddle me on the couch or floor, or wherever we ended up really.
      In fourth grade, my parents had realized it was time to introduce a new dog to the family. We were old enough to understand and learn the responsibility of a pet and the house felt somewhat empty without a dog.
     My dad had the humane society setup in the parking lot of his grocery store, and we were excited to go check the dogs out. They had labs, golden retrievers, and all kinds of happy, excited puppies! We played and let them sniff us out, only to go home empty handed.
      Later that night, my dad came home. He said the humane society had found families for all the dogs, except one. He was a mutt. Black body, brown head, white belly, and wagging tail.
     We named him Charlie.
     Charlie defined 'mutt.' We had no idea of his breed, we just knew he was happy with us.
     Charlie played, cuddled, and ran.  Oh, did Charlie run! As soon as the back door opened, that dog was halfway down the block. With age, I've realized maybe he just wanted a bit of freedom before he came back to the house. He always came back.
     In high school, Charlie made a friend in a kitten we had gotten from a family friend. His name was Oliver. Oliver was a lone wolf, sneaking outside to catch birds and roaming around the neighborhood, but he knew where his family was.
    My Junior year of college, on a Thursday morning, my mom called me. I had visited the weekend before and saw the state of our now old-in-age pup. He didn't move much and I hand fed him sandwich meat just to get him to eat something. When I left back to school, I said 'goodbye' fully aware it'd be my last chance.
     The phone call didn't last long, just the somber news that Charlie had passed. He was riding along in my dad's truck to the vet. My dad didn't even make it there before he noticed Charlie was lifeless. Later the next year, we got news that Oliver had died in the hot summer heat, probably after being hit by a car and scooting over to the side of the road.
     It was a really sad year for our family, but one that you have to know is coming if you take on another life. One day, your loyal pet will pass and they'll take a piece of your heart with them.
     I hadn't had a dog since Charlie. My parent's got a lab puppy, we named Tiny after my Grandpa, and I had a cat for little awhile, Andie, who watched Wimbledon with me every year. But she's living the good life at my parent's house where she's free to roam the upstairs and jump in the bath, dipping her head under the faucet, and then snuggling up in the dirty laundry pile.
     I've always wanted another dog. Another dog to give love and attention to.
    After a little convincing to our landlord, I was finally able to hop in the car and head to the humane society.
   My boyfriend and I originally had gone to visit with an Australian cattle dog mix named Kirby. His picture was adorable and, when we saw him at the humane society, he was licking the glass, jumping up and down, and genuinely excited to entertain us.
    But next to Kirby, lying on a little bed and staring at us through the licked-up glass door, was Alastair.
    His information sheet said he was a German Shepard, Yellow Lab mix, 7 months old, and a 'busy bee.'
    There's not a lot you can get from those information sheets, other than his last check-up, shots update, whether he'd been fixed or not, the usual.
     After putting him and Kirby on a list to visit with, we sat and waited for a free room to interact with them. I picked to play with Al first.
     We finally got called and walked into an empty, smelly room filled with toys. I sat down. I was shaking. I was incredibly nervous and I have no idea why. It felt like a first date. I was going to meet this guy and possibly make a huge commitment.
     Al was brought in to us and I immediately threw a tennis ball to get him to play. He watched the ball fly across the room, and instead of chasing it, he came in between me and Jake and just sat.
     We gave his head a good pat and listened to all the information the lady was telling us and then he just let his head fall into my lap. I looked at Jake and just had a feeling about Al. I know you shouldn't really base live altering decisions of 'feelings,' but when it comes to getting a pet, I feel like how he first introduces himself is a big deal. He didn't jump on me, he didn't bite me, he just sat and let us pet him.
     His tail wagged and within 30 minutes, Al was in our car headed home.
     Since then, we've had some learning experiences, cleaned up his messes, or as I like to call them 'accidents,' and gone on at least 3 fifteen minutes walks a day, just to try to wear him out.
     Our first visit to the vet, he commented on how big Al was and how his paws were very similar to that of a Great Pyrenese. Yikes. Al could end up being 120 lbs? What would I do with him? Tie him up to a chain in a huge fence near a ball park and nickname him 'The Beast' so a group of pre-teen boys would be afraid to hit their baseballs over and try to get them? (Yeah, okay, a real-life version of 'The Sandlot' would be pretty sweet.)
     80% of my day with Al is fantastic. He's learned to sit, stay, and lie down so quickly, which I honestly expected based on his mix of incredibly smart breeds.
     The other 20% is spent wanting to go on long walks, chasing squirrels, chewing on flip-flops, and running around the house like he stole something (I'm just trying to throw in as many sports movie quotes as possible-'Remember the Titans,' for example).
     But Al is coming into his own. He's learning fast and really enjoying a nice place to live. We had learned he was kind of 'in and out' of the system, so to speak, and maybe didn't have the best family the first time he was adopted, and I really think he can sense we're going to take care of him for as long as possible.
     I know, eventually, hopefully years and years away, it'll be Al's time like it was for Puff, Charlie, Oliver, the fish, Willow, the frogs, and J.R., but that's what investing your time and love into a pet is all about. You love them unconditionally, because if you treat them well, they will absolutely do the same for you. They take a piece of your heart with them when they die, but you get a piece of them, too, and I think that bond is really special.

Al, a German Sheprador, at 7 months old and 52 lbs. Yeah, he's going to get big. :)
   

GOOOOAAAAALLLL!!!

     All it took was Spain to destroy Italy in the Eurocup final 4-nil for me realize I haven't had a goal in awhile. The commentator made sure of that. Four times in 90+ minutes he yelled at me to find a "GOOOOAAAALLL". Or maybe he was just really excited for Spain. Sure, I still need to find a job, maybe a few hobbies to pass some time, but I don't have a solid "this is what I strive for" kind of goal. I make an awful lot of attempts at things; cook new foods, painting Super Mario characters with oil paints, jam on my guitars, but there's no more competition in my life, which, for an ex-all-star high school athlete (that I like to imagine myself as being), it can make things kind of boring.
     I played basketball and tennis growing up, having spurts of hatred for either or both sports, then realizing they were something I loved and would get back into them.  They were the two things in my life I could really be cocky about and follow through. I don't often brag about much, but when it came to the basketball court, I could tell you I was good and shot like a man and then prove it. And I don't think it was because I was good at basketball, I think it was because I was so competitive. I loved beating people, not physically of course (maybe throw a bow sometimes), but via jump shots, layups, free throws. It didn't matter what we were doing, so long as I beat you.
     In recent years I've realized I'm not that great at board games. I've lost Monopoly, Battleship, Yahtzee, and Apples to Apples the past few times I've played, and only my sisters and my boyfriend truly realize how little fun it is for me to lose. I'm a firm believer that most losses can be leveled with a good 30 minutes of silent treatment or a hard 4 minutes of complaining about the rules to either cry "Muligan!" and get another turn, or give the other person the opportunity to apologize for winning.
     So, here I am, a recent 26 year old realizing my chances of playing competitive sports is dwindling and my forever doomed fate of losing and complaining about board games is upon me.
     I can accept this fate. I'm alright with being the loser of Life (pun!). But that still doesn't satisfy my inner athlete (I say inner, because I may have gained a few pounds the past month and you have to poke my belly pretty hard to find any ounce of muscle).
     I can't think of a good transition, so let's talk about my older sister Savannah. From a distance, she's the quiet one of the 3 of us sisters. But if you watch old home videos, she's obviously the loudest and sought all kinds of attention during our theatrical performances in our living room and never aloud me, who played the family dog in many of our plays, a chance to even bark. And she did it again. She got well-deserved attention the past few weeks for the build up of her first half-marathon. She ran the Seattle Rock-N-Roll half, which, from what she told me, sounds like I'd get distracted at every mile and try to stop and dance to all the live music. Still, she did something all older siblings strive to do and that's to be the first to do something.
     And like the good older sister she is, she set the standard and invited anyone who wants to give it a try to run the half-marathon with her next year. What a coincidence! An open invitation to train for a half-marathon just as the Eurocup commentator was yelling at me! Gee, this blog must have a purpose!
     I wanted to have some sort of televised announcement comparable to when Lebron left the Cavs a few years ago, but ESPN was airing Sportscenter continuously for 4 hours today, so they didn't have any air time for me. So, here's my attempt at a goal. I've been running nearly everyday for the past 2 weeks, and I think it's high time I participate in some sort of K race. I no longer live in Kansas City, so all those cool 5K's and 10K's I had heard about aren't going to be worth driving 4 hours to run. Wichita is only 30 minutes away and it'd give the town a chance to prove to me it's not hillbilly and western Kansas.
     I've already looked through a great Wichita running website (www.runwichita.org) and have found a few runs to strive for. The Dream  Big 5K in September, a Turkey Trot 10K in November, a Jingle Bell 5K in December, and my personal favorite that I may even have my boyfriend on board to run with me, The Zombie Apocalypse 5K Obstacle course just before Halloween. Zombies chase runners through a 3 mile obstacle course and if they grab all your flags hanging from your waist, you become a zombie! How great is that? All those dreams of running from zombies finally to come true, except no real threat of nibbling on a persons face, barring bath salt usage. And it's an obstacle course, which will help with my "but what do I think about while running?!" problem.
     These ol' guys will be running with me:

 And so begins my GOAL!!! of participating in the Rock-N-Roll half in Seattle with my big sister next summer. But, I still don't know what I'll think about while running that distance AND I'm worried I really will stop and listen to all the music at each mile. All issues I will eventually sort out along the running path.
     
     
     

Challenge ACCEPTED!

     Today, just after 10am, my boyfriend Jake was oddly munching on a chicken fettuccine frozen dinner. He claimed he needed to eat lunch before he left for work at 11. He had also just eaten breakfast, because, well, he always eats breakfast. And he made a peanut butter and jelly for his afternoon break. He eats. A lot. So, hopefully, one of these post will eventually be an amazing, homemade meal by me! But this post is diving into my creativity and skill of parody. So, here it goes. 

   September of 2009, I found an acoustic guitar, out of tune, in all it's glory, hidden in the nook of my parent's attic. They had bought it for my sisters and I years before in hopes we'd pick up a hobby. Obviously, it didn't quite work. But at that time in my life, I had just returned from my great adventure in Europe and had hit a dead end of sorts. Kind of a quarter life crisis where I had accidentally picked up a habit of spending my money at bars on gin and sins and PBR's instead of something to challenge my mind. I was working in the produce department of a Dillon's (or as the locals called it, "The Dirty D") and was waking up way to early for someone at the young and wild age of 23. I usually worked 6 days a week from 6 am to 3 or 4 pm. It was awful. While I loved working with produce (I'm the daughter of a grocery man), I didn't really like the hours. And when you get home at 2 or 3 am, a little intoxicated, it's hard to get out of bed at 5 am and actually do any kind of work. 

     So, there I was, in a rut, in need of something to jump out and really grab hold of my attention. And there it was, dusty, broken strings, incredibly out of tune, in need of someone to pick it up and show it some love. So, I packed up the guitar, who later earned the name Big Bessie, purchased a generic $20 cd-rom that "teaches you everything you need to know about guitar!" and began my journey into jamming. 

     I really have to be pushed to continue something. Someone has to keep kicking me in the shins and say, "Hey, you're good at this. Keep doing it!" so I don't get bored and quit. So, I found a guitar teacher. His name was Matt and he was a late-twenties, lived-through-the-grunge-era (I didn't mean to make that sound as if no one lived through it, just not Kurt Cobain...bad joke) kind of guy I needed to teach me, not just about how to play guitar, but how to really appreciate such an amazing instrument. If I ever play the guitar as well as this guy, I've made it. 

   He taught me classic rock, pop, 90's grunge, indie, and even a little bit of flamenco. I didn't just learn riffs and chords, I learned a hell of a lot about music; songs by The Beatles I'd never heard before, I listened to an entire Nirvana cd (I was kind of young and drawn into Nsync during those days, a dark time in my life), and pretty much every song by Tom Petty. It was an experience that really picked me up in such a boring time in my life. I continued lessons from 2009 up through October of 2011, when Matt had to retire at an early age because he and his wife welcomed an adorable baby into the world. So, you can imagine he became a bit too busy. 

   Alas, I too had to call it quits on jam sessions because of my recent move. But why did I quit? Why did I stop playing "Layla" as loudly as I could just to watch the people outside look around for that crazy noise that "I'm sure their kids are going to love" ("Back to the Future" reference)? Why did I keep all 4 guitars, Big Bessie (6 string acoustic), Artie (6 string electric Jake bought me), unnamed 6 string electric I bought in 2010, and Alf (the 12 string acoustic from the 70's) bagged up and under my bed?

  I have only one answer and I don't like to admit it, but I'm fairly lazy. If I'm not challenged to do something, I'm very content just sitting and watching weird shows about the Loch Ness monster on the Travel Channel (no, that has absolutely nothing to do with what's on my TV right now...maybe it does, though). 

  Back to this morning. On his way out the door, Jake looked at me, still pajama'd up and relaxing on the couch and made a very unsubtle attempt to motivate me. He pointed at Artie and said, "You can play your guitar today." 

"Sure," I replied, still enthralled with HGTV.

"You should write me a song!" He finally grabbed my attention.

"You want me to write a song?" 

"Yes! A rock ballad! You can serenade me when I get home at 7. You have 8 hours! You better get started."

He grabbed his keys, said his 'I love you's' and walked out the door. I'm sure he doesn't actually think I'm going to write him a song, but due to the fact that I'm still unemployed and already went to the gym, my list of things to do today is complete. It would appear as though I've got nothing left to do but write a rock ballad. 

    I know that the remaining 6 hours I have is not enough time, but I've already got the tune down (I'm borrowing Ben Kweller's "Run" as inspiration) now I just need to write some lyrics. Yeah, they'll be hilarious and probably not be super romantic, we can't all write about how "I'm the one who wants to be with you", can we Mr. Big? But I'll give it a shot for the day. Plus, Artie has been very lonely. He just needs me to pick him up, show him some love, and spend my day doing something more than napping and learning about Nessie. So, my attempt at jamming for hours begins, and perhaps it's the swift kick in the ass I need to jump back into a hobby I love and a good start to overcoming the unemployed laziness blues. Artie, I'm truly the one who wants to be with you. And deep inside I know you feel it, too (feeeeel it tooo!) 

Thanks, Mr. Big. 

Moving on Down to the South-Central Side

Unemployed Log: Day 15

          I haven't slept well due to my constant afternoon napping. I've found my best dance moves occur at 11:30pm when doing dishes and I'm getting really good at timing my weekday dinners with Wheel of Fortune. It's been a long 15 days. How those slackers who collect unemployment or live off their parents and do nothing all day baffles me. How can you do this?! I'm bored out of my mind and most of my 2 weeks out of a job have been spent unpacking and exploring the new city town I've moved to. And, yeah, the exploring didn't take long, but the unpacking did. Setting up house, rearranging the kitchen, re-rearranging the kitchen when Jake (my boyfriend and new roommate) gives me a 'is she really putting that there?' look. He has organizational issues. We're working on that.
          There is nothing that I need and desire more than routine. I thrive when placed in situations I do every day. This sitting around, move only when I have to lifestyle is annoying. And it's been storming all day, which isn't new to Kansas, but it definitely derails any plans I had to get out of this house. I wanted to wash my car or go for a bike ride. I really just wanted to stop sitting and cleaning and unpacking and doing these things that need to be done. Priorities stink.
          So, with the thunder pounding, lightening striking, rain pouring, I've found a some-what exciting venture: to actually blog. And I'm not going to blog about how bored I am, I promise. This is the only one. I'd like to start accomplishing things on my bucket list, or just my everyday list. I want to cook more, grow my own herb garden, paint, write, read all those books I bought in college but sparknoted for the exams, I want to do all those little things I've always wanted to do, but found excuses not to do them.
         I want to ride my new-old bike. It's a rusted, 1980's purple road bike that Jake and I bought from an old lady down the street. Her husband even threw in the extra back wheel if it needed replaced. Twenty bucks. It was a steal! And I want to ride it around town. This small, hippie town. I need to raise the seat,  then add a basket, and buy a polka-dot summer dress to complete the Zooey Deschanel-classy hipster feel, but ride it, I will!
        I want to document all these cool things I decide to do. I'll take pictures, I'll blog about it, I'll do all I can to inspire anyone who reads this to try out new things. To make time for all those small adventures that no one makes time for. Those little hobbies that make the long work weeks seem somewhat worth it. I'm going to try my best to make up for the past few years of working and not taking time to really try something. I'm young, so I'm told, and have years left, so I'm told. What better time to start digging through all these wonderful hobbies, volunteer opportunities, and goals that I've always wanted to try.
      So, Here it goes.



(I'm not actually doing anything tonight, because it's storming. So, maybe just check back soon for updates.) :)

    

               

Oh, hey Blog. It's been awhile.

Well, I'd say nearly a year and a half is well enough of a break that I could probably start blogging again. If not for me, then for my dad who, every time I visit home, reminds me how much he likes to read my updates. The only thing really keeping me from blogging is that I can never really think of anything interesting enough to write about. My life is just interesting enough that I can fill the 140 character void on Twitter and maybe even come up with a snarky enough Facebook status to make people laugh. But an entire blog? Maybe I'll just ramble off topics that have recently been brought up in my life and see what I can come up with.
Growing up: Finally! At 25 (almost the dreaded 26, come summer)! I managed to put that off for quite awhile. Moving to England after college, working silly jobs when I got back. But now, I have a job that has no advancement whatsoever, where I get yelled at on a daily basis. But it's 9-5 five days a week and I have health insurance. I also have a boyfriend who actually takes me into consideration when planning the future. It's all big kid stuff, and I feel as though I've adjusted fairly well. But the change seems to really be taking effect within the next 5 weeks.
I've lived in Lawrence, KS since 2005 (with that small bout of the travel bug in 2008-2009 when I was in Europe for 7 months). Regardless, it's been a good 6 or so years in a college town that I can't seem to say 'goodbye' to.
When I say 'good', I really mean amazing, of course. It's the hometown of the Jayhawk, mostly, but I've also taken part in many of the city's eccentric activities. The Busker festival, where street performers line Massachusetts street and juggle fire balls, or shove knives down their throats, and twist and bend metal. They walk on glass, tear phone books in half, and make balloon animals for all the kids. And then there's the more classic townie happenings, like the Saturday morning flea markets, buying fresh bread from Harvest Bread Co., riding my bike along the trails out to Clinton Lake, celebrating amazing basketball seasons....oh. that last one? Really is something we get to do a lot.
I was born in 1986, and I've been a Jayhawk, not since birth, but since conception, which I realize is a gross thing to say. But I can hold my own in a conversation about Hawk basketball. I had a crush on Ryan Robertson before I even knew about Justin Timberlake. My high school crush was Nick Collison, who now plays for the OKC Thunder (more on him and a restraining order in my foreseeable future later). I cried harder over NCAA losses than breakups, and I used to watch a VHS of the '88 championship before bed when I was 10. When I was 14, I told a grown man that it wasn't Jauque Vaughn that played in '88, it was Scooter Barry. Idiot. I loathed Roy Williams for leaving, but loved Bill Self for taking over. When people try to tell me "wait until football season" I say, "Why? It's all about basketball....Idiot."
Now, back to Nick Collison. I will embarrassingly admit to making a build-a-bear in high school and naming him Nick-Nick. I will also admit that I've been the number 4 for almost every basketball team I've played on. I cried after Collison lost the NCAA finals to Syracuse in 2003. And I was overjoyed when his number was hung in the rafters in Allen Fieldhouse. But it's been quite a few years since I've really thought about my old crush (he's old. 31, I believe). Last year, my boyfriend Jake and I made it a point to watch OKC through the NBA finals and I was reminded how much I love him (Jake and Collison).
Jake, a future pharmacist of America, will be graduating in May, passing some tests (knock on wood), and getting hired on as a full-time pharmacist with the grocery store chain Dillon's. We found out a month ago that in Kansas, jobs near big cities are few and far between. So, Jake's destination? Ark City, KS! 10 miles (ish) from the Oklahoma border! However, the things we've heard about Ark City aren't super enticing, so we've managed to find a home to rent in nearby Winfield, KS. Jake asked me what I thought about moving with him. I, of course, emphasized a strong "I go where you go" reply without the cheesy "Titanic"-you-jump-I-jump-can-we-see-this-movie-in-3D?! feel to it. So, here we are. A mere 5 weeks from moving away from the city I've loved every day since I've been here. Maybe I haven't loved the jobs, but the fact that I can get a good marg, beer, or double tall gin and tonic, just about anywhere after a tough day as a lowly pharm tech, makes living here all the better.
So, I'll quit my job, pack my things, invest in a relationship, experience small-town life, and, hopefully, become a regular at a bar where everybody knows my name. I'll start to know what 'season' it is for farmers, be able to tell the difference between a tractor and--some other farm equipment, and I'll probably buy a gun of sorts. I'll find things to do, find a job (hopefully a career), oh, and probably drive an hour and a half to watch-yep- the OKC Thunder and my love Nick Collison. I never knew if I could fully get into NBA, but two Jayhawks (Collison and Aldrich) being on the same team will certainly grab my attention. It helps that they're good, too.
And every time I get scared to leave, this afternoon for example, Jake's there to reassure me we'll be just fine. We'll make our rental house a home, we'll have a washer and dryer, but no dishwasher, we'll unpack all our things-his video games, my guitars, we'll have two of everything and no matching dishes, and, yeah, we'll be just fine. AND he promised me a puppy one day. Actually, 2 puppies, because he wants a bulldog named Spike, and I need a mutt named Gromit to help me invent mechanical trousers and visit the moon for cheese (you know, like the movies "Wallace and Gromit"?). But the main point, my avid readers (dad), is that we'll be just fine.
......even better if we beat Kentucky tomorrow night. :) ROCK CHALK and JAYHAWK.