Stand.

When I was little. I practiced swimming between my mom and her friend Sarah at the beach. I remember that we were in the bay, where the waves were no more than 3 feet tall, and the current was strong enough to push me around, but not really strong enough to pull me away. Besides, I knew then as I know now, my mom was there, and she would get me out of the wave if it got to unsafe for me.... She could still touch. Very important things in the eyes of a 6 year old.

As I swam back towards my mom, a wave hit me... and I remember clearly opening my eyes in it, it looked like what I would imagine a washing machine does, all noise and dark churning. And I rolled and rolled, knowing I should come up but unable to push myself to the surface.... when the wave stopped, I thrashed and panicked.... I was paralyzed with the knowledge of incoming death.

When clear as day, I heard ... STAND UP.

So I moved my feet beneath me. And I stood. In 3 feet of Water, 50 feet down the shore from my mom. Alone and close at the same time... and no where near enough to tell me that the water was shallow enough to stand.

I spend an inordinate amount of time wrestling with God. I have never been a passive believer, I somehow doubt, I have ever been a passive anything. I fight over little things, big things, things that I can't change, things that I can. I spend the rest of my time, holding tightly to the things that are good in my life...

More often than not, life these days feel like I am back on that beach, swimming slowly back and forth between parents. One there and one unseen, all the while holding on to all the good things in my life, and feeling an awful lot like the good things, things that are supposed to help me float in the sea, have such a hold on me that I am slowly losing my buoyancy and I am moved by life's waves... those things that I value so much, they seem to be killing me. But I fear deeply that if I ask for help, if I ask someone to hold my good things, all my treasures, they won't be valued, that somehow they will be thrown away or worse yet, given to someone more worthy of them. Stuck at a crossroads, I pray desperately that I might be able to keep what is mine. Even as my treasures get broken and wrenched away by my own inability to care for them in the waves. Slowly, I swim on, when the distance seems to keep growing between me and a person who can touch.

I felt myself get knocked around this week, and for a few moments, I was tossed in the waves, all darkness and noise, churned and whipped around. Recognizing that I am speck in the face of an angry ocean. Rolled through the waves... and when it came to a stop, I was scared and angry and feeling a sense of clarity that only happens to me on occasion: one day, I will be unable to swim and these good things... the hopes that I carry with me, they will eventually drown me. I can't swim holding on to the past, present and future, hopes, dreams and realities.... Swimming seems to be take all the muscles god gave me.

So I let things go.... I thrashed and panicked and waited for the inevitable feeling of sinking and as I sunk below the water. Sadness (but I loved it). fear, (please, please don't take this from me) panic (I am nothing without it)

Until a voice, familiar to me, told me to stand.

My feet stretch, my body turning, my toes feeling for a rocky bottom.
I stand.

I've been BETRAYED...

Throws BARWARE....

To whom it may concern, but with specific regards to Lindsay Lohan, whose crazyness has infected the L.A. air and has taken hold of my roommates tentative grip on reality:

I have been betrayed, on the deepest, darkest, most injury inducing levels... by someone I considered FAMILIA, my roommate. Who brazenly just walked into my room wearing.............SKINNY JEANS.

BAH.

I blame you LaLohan, and I am eyeing you suspiciously, Britney, clearly this is some sort of L.A.
like conspiracy to make me insane.

It's like I can't even look at her anymore, it's like I don't even know who she is anymore, thankfully, when she asked if they looked HORRIFIC, i didn't have to lie, my roommate was blessed with v. thin thighs.

But honestly, HONESTLY, what is next. Will she go on a rampage attacking cars and shaving her head.

Will she start wearing puffy sneakers, with skinny pants, thereby besmirching the Casa de Meh's good name. Where is Donna Karan when I need her!

Never fear all, I have a plan of action already in place. I have begun placing InStyle Magazine in inoccuous places, like the fridge, so that she picks up the hint. I also have removed all puffy shoes from the premises and am currently cutting out pictures of La Lohan, with subtle statements like, this could be you, and have strategically placed pictures of muffins around the house, so that she keeps a watchful eye.

I feel as though the end is near.
I must go online shop at Banana Republic, that mine eyes be cleansed.
Pray for us all.

Hey. I don't like your girlfriend.

Let us have a moment of silence, as I quoted Avril Lavigne.... whom I despise.

But seriously, I don't like your girlfriend. This is currently true for at least 4 people in my life right now (Thankfully, that isn't true about any of my boys, I like their girlfriends, mostly because they aren't CRAZY)

*aside* one of my boys, has a girl (space) friend, that I am not that a fan of, but meh, what can you do.

I am not one of those girls that doesn't like other girls, but sometimes men in my life pick strange issue filled girls and like little puppies present their finds to me for approval and in some cases clean up... but the thing they don't get is those girls don't like ME... and frankly, I DON'T LIKE THEM. I don't like that they are so flipping needy, I don't like that you expect me to make them my best friend because you happen to be making out with them, and I don't like when they inevitably snap, and I get dropped until you find a new toy.

In other news, Casa De Meh, has gone into full summer alert, which basically means my roommate has permanently moved into my room (I have Air Conditioning) and we wear all bikini's all the time. Yes, I know you wish you lived here.

Skinny

More on that later.

But for now, a brief interlude:

Boys.

You make me want to scream. No really, scream.

Why do you do the things you do. Tell me I am perfect for you, but not take a risk and ask me out.... and if you don't mean it, stop saying it. I don't want to be the friend you are gonna always be in love with. GET IT TO*FREAKING*GETHER, or leave me alone. I would be fine without you.

He loves me. He loves me not. Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah.

Okay, rant over.
Last week, I had what we in Casa de Meh, call the bitchslap o'truth, the BST, if you will:

I will never be the skinny girl.
No. Never.
Devastating news. Well, Meh, who gave you such knowledge, who issued the BST that gave you such a headache. Here is the culprit: Ken.

Ken and I take boxing together 3 times a week, and as such, he pretty much knows my fitness level (which is pretty decent.) Anyway, Ken and I were walking out, as we usually do, discussing cute people in class, what our dates did that was stupid etc. And he was discribing what type of girl he likes.... and he said, "well, I like girls that are fit and healthy, like you (I know, nice right!) I hate skinny girls." Me: earth shattering to a halt "what do you mean, skinny girls?" and Ken says, you know girls who are skinny... aren't you glad you aren't a skinny girl. I mean, you never have to worry about being skinny"

Crickets.

Me: "NO. I mean, yeah, of course too thin you can't win"

But driving home, I considered... did Ken not know... my fitness goal has always been to be a skinny girl... every girls fitness goal (despite the, I just want to be healthy crap is to be a skinny girl)... I mean REALLY, WTF do you think I am nearly killing myself 3-5 times a week... fitness is fun and everything but honestly, SKINNY is the goal, sqeeeze myself into a delicious size 2 (I am a 6/8 so I am not really that big) never have to worry about what I can eat and when, etc. look fantastic in photos... healthy takes work, and now I find out, I can be working out for the next 5 years of my life and never be skinny.

BST.