Chronic Dwelling

I come to you today seeking advice, dear blog readers. As you may have surmised (or not, I mean it’s kind of presumptuous to expect that you all have nothing better to do than psychoanalyze me), I am a chronic dweller. I worry constantly about making the right decisions in the future and about the decisions I’ve already made. What if, I think at least three times a day, I had gone to a different college? What if I’d majored in dance? What if, what if, what if? Despite my frequent attempts to reassure myself that I’m getting a good education at my college, that I’m glad I’m not in another four-year dance degree program, I tend to dwell on all the negative elements of my current situation: I settled for a less academically rigorous school when I had the grades and the work ethic to attend a much more challenging college or university. I have no close friends at college and while I’ve met some delightful people, I have little in common with most of my fellow students. For instance: I still check books out of the library. I’m a marred, conservative Christian with social anxiety. Also, I don’t care about fashion or being a STAR. I have to remind myself that all the decisions I’ve made got me where I am now. In many ways this is a good thing. I met Graham and many of my closest friends and while I may have met many of them, um, online originally,  the people who introduced us are fellow Harry Potter fans I first met in New York City, while lonely and looking for friends. Who knows. If I’d gone to say, Columbia or one of the dance conservatories I applied to, things may have turned out differently. I could be a college drop-out! A petty thief! Selling myself on the streets to support my seven children and severe caffeine addiction!

Graham’s Big College Decision will determine where we live next year and where and when I can go to graduate school. Speaking of grad school, do you know how many Alternate Futures exist in my brain. I cam extremely close to applying for a last-minute Fulbright grant to go abroad and conduct research for my book. (Did I mention I’m working on a book? I hesitate to call it a book because it’s more like a collection of notes and outlines and emails right now. More information to come.) After some contemplation and prayer, it became very clear that God wants me to wait. Rather than rush through life, like I tend to do, it’s time to take a breath, re-focus and wait for His timing. After all, I’m graduating college two years ahead of schedule so that I can focus on dance for a while. It’s time for Graham to enjoy his college experience instead of being dragged all over the country so that I can feel like I’m doing something worthwhile and impressive. Plus, I don’t even think my “book” is going to require an extensive amount of overseas research, I don’t think I’m ready to be essentially alone in a foreign country and there are a lot  more people more deserving of that grant than I am. There’s a chance I’ll apply in a year or two or three, but now is now the right time.  And I think I’d rather, like, go to a traditional graduate school anyway. As much as I want to start grad school right away, I’m practicing patience on that front as well. But there are so many wrong decisions to make! What if I choose the wrong school or wrong program and worse, what if I don’t get in anywhere at all or get no financial aid? What if I can’t handle the pressure and spontaneously combust in the middle of writing my thesis? I’m going to spend the next year seriously considering my options: MFA writing program? Theological studies program?  Useless post-graduate dance program? Big university? Seminary? Christian school?

Good news: Graham’s already said “no” to any Ivy Leagues (except Columbia because I kind of really like it there), so my choices are already more limited than they were a year ago!

Are you a recovered or recovering chronic dweller? Got any advice?

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29.11

Oh. Maybe that’ll do. Thanks, Jeremiah.

I come to you today seeking advice, dear blog readers. As you may have surmised (or not, I mean it’s kind of presumptuous to expect that you all have nothing better to do than psychoanalyze me), I am a chronic dweller. I worry constantly about making the right decisions in the future and about the decisions I’ve already made. What if, I think at least three times a day, I had gone to a different college? What if I’d majored in dance?

What if, what if, what if?!

Despite my frequent attempts to reassure myself that I’m getting a good education at my college, that I’m glad I’m not in another four-year dance degree program, I tend to dwell on all the negative elements of my current situation: I settled for a less academically rigorous school when I had the grades and the work ethic to attend a much more challenging college or university. I have no close friends at college and while I’ve met some delightful people, I have little in common with most of my fellow students. For instance: I still check books out of the library. I’m a married, conservative Christian with social anxiety. Also, I don’t care about fashion or being a STAR. I have to remind myself that all the decisions I’ve made got me where I am now. In many ways this is a good thing. I met Graham and many of my closest friends and while I may have met many of them, um, online originally,  the people who introduced us are fellow Harry Potter fans I first met in New York City, while lonely and looking for friends. Who knows. If I’d gone to say, Columbia or one of the dance conservatories I applied to, things may have turned out differently. I could be a college drop-out! A petty thief! Selling myself on the streets to support my three children and severe caffeine addiction!

Graham’s Big College Decision will determine where we live next year and where and when I can go to graduate school. Speaking of grad school, do you know how many Alternate Futures exist in my brain. I cam extremely close to applying for a last-minute Fulbright grant to go abroad and conduct research for my book. (Did I mention I’m working on a book? I hesitate to call it a book because it’s more like a collection of notes and outlines and emails right now. More information to come.) After some contemplation and prayer, it became very clear that God wants me to wait. Rather than rush through life, like I tend to do, it’s time to take a breath, re-focus and wait for His timing. After all, I’m graduating college two years ahead of schedule so that I can focus on dance for a while. It’s time for Graham to enjoy his college experience instead of being dragged all over the country so that I can feel like I’m doing something worthwhile and impressive. Plus, I don’t even think my “book” is going to require an extensive amount of overseas research, I don’t think I’m ready to be essentially alone in a foreign country and there are a lot  more people more deserving of that grant than I am. There’s a chance I’ll apply in a year or two or three, but now is now the right time.  And I think I’d rather, like, go to a traditional graduate school anyway. As much as I want to start grad school right away, I’m practicing patience on that front as well. But there are so many wrong decisions to make! What if I choose the wrong school or wrong program and worse, what if I don’t get in anywhere at all or get no financial aid? What if I can’t handle the pressure and spontaneously combust in the middle of writing my thesis? I’m going to spend the next year seriously considering my options: MFA writing program? Theological studies program?  Useless post-graduate dance program? Big university? Seminary? Christian school?

Good news: Graham’s already said “no” to any Ivy Leagues (except Columbia because I kind of really like it there), so my choices are already more limited than they were a year ago!

Are you a recovered or recovering chronic dweller? Got any advice?

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”- Jeremiah 29.11

Oh. Maybe that’ll do. Thanks, Jeremiah.

An Absurdly Long Post About A Wedding

I keep trying to write a blog entry about the wedding that does it justice, but it appears I’ll never be able to, so you’ll have to deal with my pixelated, low-quality, camera phone version.

As you might surmise from my previous couple of entries, 89% of my brain had convinced the remaining optimistic 11% that the entire wedding would somehow erupt in figurative and/or literal flames hours before the ceremony. I envisioned Graham and myself forced to marry in a stranger’s basement,  with a ten second ceremony officiated by a guy named Larry from Down the Block a recently ordained Our Lady of the Internet minister, followed by a celebratory toast with Kool Aid Koolers or maybe Capri Sun*, all while wearing sweatpants. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would experience such a joyful, serene wedding day.

Following my “bachelorette party” on Thursday night which mostly involved discussions of theology, Harry Potter and virginity (usually not at the same time) with some of my closest friends, we spent the majority of Friday setting up tables, unloading a million chairs from a truck (well, ok, about 160),  and sweeping bat feces from the floor of a barn. For little guys, bats have lots of bowel movements. The amount of people who turned out to help with all of these tasks (including people who weren’t ask) astounded me. Even the wedding rehearsal was far more seamless than I anticipated, thanks to the wonderful leadership of the pastor and cooperation by the attendants and family members (and friends who stood-in for missing grandparents).

I had my last minor breakdown of the week at the rehearsal dinner. The Badger family generously hosted what felt like a thousand people in their home– but was actually more like forty– and made waffles, complete with homemade whipped cream for all of them. While Mr. and Mrs. Badger never ceased being gracious and generous, the sheer number of people completely overwhemed me. Many of them traveled hundreds of miles for the wedding and I wanted to spend time talking to and hugging all of them, but there were just . . . so many. A member in good standing of the Socially Challenged Introverts League, at the end of a long, hot day the last thing I usually want to do is put on a smile and socialize. I felt guilty for not being entertaining enough, and had to take a break outside for a few minutes in order to avoid succumbing to tears. Graham, amazing man that he is, refused to let me alone (because, to paraphrase Dumbledore, human beings have a knack for wanting precisely the things that are worst for them) and walked with me a while to calm me down. No one encourages and inspires me, quite like he does, and after our brief conversation I enjoyed the rest of the evening much more thoroughly.

I slept in on Saturday and spent the majority of the morning swimming with Rachel, my sister, and best friend, Mia. We amused ourselves largely by attempting ballet choreography in the water. For some reason, the absurdity of of an aquatic tour jeté has amused us for the past eight years. After far too many hours of showering, hair (done my my mother), and makeup  (by yours truly) in the company of my bridesmaids, we arrived at the wedding, albeit slightly behind schedule. I waited in the barn, where the reception would take place, for a few minutes while I hugged a few people and we all gathered our gorgeous bouquets. In the blink of an eye, I was walking down the aisle to my favorite hymn, on my father’s arm. For our friends less familiar with our faith and belief system, the religious nature of the ceremony may have been a little overwhelming, but for us it was perfect. We exchanged vows reflective of our beliefs about the marriage covenant (see Ephesians 5), exchanged rings (which are family heirlooms) and were pronounced Man and Wife.  Word on the street says a butterfly flew over us in that moment, but I’ve yet to see the photographic evidence.

The reception . . .oh, goodness. The reception was just fun. I won’t bore you with excruciating detail, but the food was wonderful, the cake looked beautiful and tasted better and I danced to ridiculous music with the Harry Potter Fandom. Seriously. 100% of my “Harry Potter friends” danced, while about 10% of other guests dared take to the dance floor. I love my Potter friends.

Speaking of friends, Graham and I are still reeling with how generous and fantastic our friends and family are. On Saturday, dozens of volunteers (some of whom I’d never even met, or barely kn0w) gathered at the wedding venue to decorate and continue setting up for the ceremony and reception. We hired no caterer or wedding planner. Graham’s father and some family friends barbecued all day on Thursday and Friday for the carnivores, while my mother and Graham’s grandmother put together most of the rest of the food (salad, fruit salad, hummus, pita) and the day of the reception a host of volunteers prepared a hundred ears of corn on the cob. Have I mentioned how good the corn was? You haven’t had corn until you’ve had Ohio corn. Graham’s aunt brought a host of remarkable ideas to the table and contributed a variety of items for decorating purposes, the pastor’s wife paid for our D.J. (a church friend) when she discovered we weren’t planning on having one, and the florist (also a church/family friend) charged far less than she could have given the quality and quanntity of the flowers we ordered. Not to mention the fact, that an entire family from the church acted as servers for the reception. They served guests, replaced food on the buffet line, cleared plates and even handed out wet wipes so that guests could clean up after eating the messy food. I saw and felt the love of Christ in all those people that week and there’s no way I could ever thank them enough. That’s what weddings should feel like– not corporate, mass produced obligations but community-centered celebrations of love, family and God’s grace.

I’ll updated soon to tell you about our “homeymoon” (stay-at-home honeymoon) or at least about some of the mini-vacation. I just made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? Thanks for reading this obscenely long entry, and please take a minute to bookmark the new blog I’m starting with my husband: http://marriageonthequad.blogspot.com in which we’ll blog about the unique challenges of being married college students. I know the name is corny and kind of dumb, but I registered it in the wee hours of the morning while half asleep and I can’t think of anything better.

P.S. No, this blog’s name isn’t changing either. Words Can Badger sounds funny, but Graham says no.

*Ok, maybe this was wishful thinking. I actually really like capri suns. They come in shiny pouches that inflate.

Flourescently-Lit Achievement

Several months ago, I compiled a list of Things I’m Supposed to Like by Don’t. This week, I realized that my list should also include a sub-category: Things I’m Supposed to Want but Just Make Me Depressed.

Over the course of my overly ambitious and eager childhood, I programed the multitude of cells and slimy mass that today’s leading scientific experts often refer to as my “Brain” to constantly achieve. I’m not even really sure what my brain considers “acheivement” but I know that it’s not happy until it is satisfied with my acheive-ifying abilities. The dozens of years spent sweating in a dance studio, bent over a desk (or my kitchen table) taking notes or writing stories also programmed my brain to measure acheivement in several very distinct ways:

1. Achievement in dance. In order to be happy, I have to be performing, training, taking class and making progress in my chosen art. When other things get in the way of this, I tend to get grumpy, depressed and anxious. School is often the culprit, which brings me to . . .

2. Achievement in academics. After spending most of my formative years in homeschool, I was so eager to experience the adventure of the Texas public school system that I completed all of my ninth grade summer assignments by February of previous year. At my International/arts/semi-college preperatory school “summer assignments” consisted of everything from complex research papers about cultural diversity (Geography), to creative writing projects (English), to watching the original Star Wars trilogy* (Biology). I eventually learned how wonderful procrastination can be, but nevertheless my Type-A, Hermione Grangerish self sought All-As all the time. Aside from a disastrous year of Algebra II and my ambivalent attitude toward Chemistry, I acheived my goal and tied with 10 other people for the Top of the Class.

Since graduating high school I’ve grown and changed a lot as a person. I’ve renewed my relationship with Christ, grown to greatly value the place and role of the family and society and spent some time in the “Real World.” The result is that the things I’m supposed to care about as a 21st Century, college educated, ambitious and relatively intelligent woman, just don’t matter to me. I’ve spent some time temping for a major publishing corporation over the summer and while I thoroughly enjoy the people and like working there in two and three week spurts, the whole situation just drains me.

I have no interest in florescent lights and unlimited supply of bad coffee. Staring at a computer screen all day while completing tasks in which I’m not emotionally or intellectually invested is a prison sentence for me. There are perks, sure. A good salary, a pretty sweet bathroom and occasionally free business lunch. I’m missing the gene that is supposed to make me want a high-powered career like this. Every time I go to work, I think about how much I wish I were spending 8 hours a day in rehearsal rather than on the thirtieth floor of an cubicle-ridden building. I wish I could find satisfaction in it because people who work there do important things that need to be done, they have routine days and regular paychecks and health insurance. They contribute to society. I envy the people who work there and find fulfillment.

It’s great for temporary work, but after every assignment, I’m reminded why I dance, why I write, why I’d rather stay at home with my future kids and teach them than sit around long tables using corporate catch-phrases like “touch base” and “error out.” It’s a good thing to realize, but also pretty distressing. My future-husband is going to make a wonderful professor and nothing makes me happier than seeing him fulfiled and happy, but since I’m pretty set on not being the high-earning-power-woman, I feel like I’ve put a lot of pressure on him to be the breadwinner of the family. I don’t want him to have to sacrifice any of his dreams because of my selfishness. But that’s a blog-thought for another day. The point is that there are only two ways I can see myself ever making money:

1. Dancing

2. Writing

Of course, I’m pretty doubtful that many people will pay me to do these two things for extended periods of time, but I’ll never forgive myself for not trying with all of my weirdly overachieving braincells.

*My teacher was a big fan. This was also my least favorite Summer Assignment.

Disorganized and Disinteresting

Howdy Y’all! (Sorry. I hate Texan stereotypes, almost as much as I adore reinforcing them.)

Confession: I have a serious addiction to other people’s blogs. The fact that my Google Reader feed stayed relatively stagnant over the weekend due to some holiday celebrating the signing of some old piece of paper really depressed me. If only I were as addicted to my own blog as I am to the blogs of people I’ve never met (and/or met only on the internet).

So far my visit to Texas has been enjoyable. I finally feel like the wedding is actually happening soon which is both thrilling and weird and a little scary. My mom and sister took me shopping and spent way too much money on my wedding makeup, rehearsal dinner outfit, and a dress for the second part of the reception. You know, the part when I can’t stand having to wrestle the 1.4 million layers of tulle and crenoline that is my dress just to go to the restroom and decide to change into something more suitable for dancing, mid-August heat and port-a-potties. Oh yeah, there will be port-a-potties at our wedding. See, in true Keeler-and-Badger style, we chose a beautiful, gorgeous, perfect ceremony/reception venue– with no indoor plumbing. I promise it’s a classy barn with a classy bat infestation and classy port-a-potties.

After I acquired all of my extra wedding whatsits and such, my mom insisted that we all do a “test run” of our hair, makeup and dresses so on the fourth of July, before our celebratory annual viewing of the senior-citizen’s PBS Independence Day Special, Mom, Rachel (my sister/Maid of Honor/Made of Awesome) and I got all dolled up in our wedding gear. I practiced applying my overpriced department store counter makeup (with FREE GIFT) and Mom used her ninja hair dressing skills to make my otherwise un-exciting hair into a beautiful web of gorgeous. Did I mention that Mom also handmade my veil? She’s pretty awesome.

We all looked pretty great. I felt a little bit like a four year old playing dress-up in her mommy’s closet, but for a few minutes there, after pinning the silver tiara (aka Diadem of Ravenclaw) into my scalp with 76 bobby pins and before Mom pulled out her camera phone to take cheesy, pre-prom style pictures of Rachel and I in the living room, I actually felt bridal.

Earlier today, Rachel threw me a wedding shower in which I recieved a beautiful box full of old family recipes written on cards. These recipes are kind of a big deal in my family and very important to me, so it was really special. I also got to see a lot of old friends, drink earl grey tea out of china and eat adorable finger sandwiches and vegan cupcakes. In case you’re headed to a bridal shower anytime soon, please be aware that Target gift cards are apparently THE THING to give brides-to-be these days. I’m a pretty big fan of Target and exceedingly grateful for the cards, but I’m starting to think Target had a massive gift card giveaway I don’t know about . Or maybe they also give FREE GIFTS with purchase?

I’m enjoying another three days down here in the Lone Star State, drinking iced tea and counting the number of times I hear the phrase “bless her/his/your heart” every day. Oh, how I missed the South. See you when I’m back in yankee territory and can find something more interesting about which to write!

Hairbrush Wars and HIMYM

Since my last update, I’ve started about 452 blog posts and abandoned every one. Except the one about the monkey doing chin-ups on the subway. That I’m keeping up my sleeve until the world is ready to hear it.  Aside from the aforementioned primate-meets-elementary school gym class incident, the most exciting things that I have done in the past two weeks are as follows.

1) I got into an epic battle with my roller hairbrush. At least, I think it’s called a “roller hairbrush.” You know, one of those brushes that’s shaped like a cyllinder instead of a paddle? Anyway, it somehow ended up all tangled in my hair. Usually I’d just ask one of my roommates or my mother (if she were in close proximity) to help me pry the monster from my scalp, however I live all alone. It’s just me and the ghosts I sometimes imagine live on the fire escape. I know children read this blog, so I won’t go into any of the morbid details, but this wasn’t pretty. It was full on war. We both suffered numerous casualties– the brush lost many bristles at the point of my scissors, many of my hairs were torn out by the brush’s unyielding teeth. I was even forced to put a few sections of hair out of their misery and cut them off myself. Finally, after this long and tiring battle at 3am, I emerged ugly but victorious. I’m hoping no one will notice the uneven, slightly bald patch on the crown of my head.

2) I watched a TV show. Like, all four seasons of a TV show. In a week. This is huge for me because the last time I watched the entirety of a TV show, from its early years to its grand finale, it was during my “Boy Meets World” phase last summer. Before that I think it was either “The Dick Van Dyke Show” or “I Love Lucy”. It’s not that I have a problem with TV, I just have a problem with most of the things that are on TV. 99% of the time, I’m just not interested. Or I’m interested in the wrong shows. (Like many women alive during the early 21st century, I went through a brief, two month “Sex and the City” phase. I don’t like to talk about it.) Plus, I hate sitting still for too long and there are a great many things I’d rather do than stare at a TV screen. I know everyone hates that girl who’s always bragging that she doesn’t even own a TV, so come on and hate me. My computer screen works perfectly well if I feel the need to take an excursion into the lives of Rob and Laure Petrie or The Ricardos.

After much persuasion by my friends Leah and Quinn, I decided to give the sit-com “How I Met Your Mother” a try. It completely -changed my perception of what TV can and should be. Clever, poignant, well-written and brilliantly executed, this show grabbed a hold of me and wouldn’t let go until I’d finished all previously-aired seasons. During and after my HIMYM binge,  I found myself obsessing about the show the way I usually obsess about a particularly good book. Conventiently, I even took a trip to McGee’s pub– the bar upon which the show’s creators based the fictional MacLaren’s– this week to celebrate Quinn’s birthday. We all “suited up” and continued making HMYM references all evening.

If you haven’t seen thiis show yet, please do yourself a favor and give it a try. It’s legen . . . wait for it . . .I hope you’re not lactose intolerant because the next word is. . . DARY.

Lucky for me, the show was picked up for a fifth season. After watching 90 episodes in 8 days, waiting a week between episodes like the rest of the world is going to be torturous. I don’t know how to be a fan of a show currently on the air.  I feel so CURRENT.

In unrelated news, I’m flying to Texas tomorrow to hang out with my family, swim, eat tacos and attend my own bridal shower. I’m going to try to update from “down south” but if I don’t, I’ll see you when I return!

Housekeeping and Housegetting

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I have successfully completed a treacherous Exodus from Brooklyn.  I didn’t exactly have to part the East River or run away from scantily clad Egyptians, but we (Graham and I) overcame several other challenges to secure the apartment in the Promised Land (also known as Manhattan):

1)      Money.  This apartment is cheap by NYC standards, but you know, that’s like saying “this genocide is petty by Third Reich standards.” Thanks to the help of family, loans of friends and a lot of prayer, we finally managed to secure all of the necessary money for this place. (One month rent, one month security deposit, obscene broker’s fee.)

2)      Paper work. First, the lease we signed was incorrect. Then, the broker wouldn’t accept the checks I gave him. Then, it seemed a million other things went wrong. Eventually, something went right.

3)      Being identified as Mormons or Orthodox Jews.  This wasn’t so much an obstacle as just . . . funny. I mean, since we are getting married young and we don’t want to live together until we’re married, and I wear long skirts we MUST be Mormon or Orthodox. They seemed pretty surprised that we’re non-denominational Christians. The broker was like “Wow, I didn’t know Christians had such strong moral values!”  I’ve never been prouder of my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.

4)      Actually moving.  Graham’s dad and friend came into the city to help us move. I really love Graham’s father and having him here to help us was a huge blessing. The fact that none of us had ever really driven in the city however, did not help the moving process. We made it to our destinations eventually, but only after many U-turns and wrong exits. The car battery also died, but in true Badger fashion, Graham’s dad made BFFs with these guys from East Africa who jump started our car for us. Then he got their card and probably told them about Jesus. I really love my family.

Now, I’m all alone in this gloriously huge, old, gorgeous apartment.  We have views of the beautiful park, and castle-like museum across the street and the Hudson River is only a few blocks away. Also, the walls are PALE YELLOW with white trim, which is my favorite color for walls to be. No joke.  We have a full kitchen, enormous living room and bedroom big enough for a handful of Queen sized beds. Did I mention the two walk-in closets? It is far nicer than I ever expected we’d be able to find for our budget and we’re planning to stay here as long as we live in the city (which could be only a year, depending on where Graham goes to school). Graham is staying with our friend Quinn until after the wedding while I try and figure out how to furnish this place.

In other news, I’m reading a lot of young adult novels this summer. I also just finished rereading HBP in preparation for the movie. I forgot how brilliant Book 6 is, both as an individual novel and as a piece of a larger series. Jo Rowling breathes wonderment and magic. Seriously.

Wedding planning is . . .going. Yeah. Invitations are finally out. Venue is booked. Rentals reserved. I really suck at being a bride. I know I’m supposed to know exactly how I want everything,  that I’m supposed to have been imagining my perfect wedding since the age of 6. Honestly, my dream wedding involves Hogwarts and flying carriages. As long as things look pretty and I get to marry the person I love with all of my family and friends close by, I’m not picky about the rest.

More news soon!

How I Didn’t Lose My Donkeys

You know how everyone has that one friend whose always talking about the karmic balance of the universe, or the movements of the stars or collective negative energy? It’s that same person who obsesses over people’s moon charts and explains people’s behavior with phrases like “he’s such a Scorpio*.”  Maybe it was the fact that horoscopes were considered borderline occultish and Satanic in my childhood church or maybe it’s because I resent the fact that my “sign” is an unpleasant insect-crap hybrid**, but I don’t really by that stuff. Here in New York I can’t even see the stars most of the time let alone meditate on the effects their slight shift may have on our petty endeavors on earth. Given the borderline catastrophic week everyone and their dog just experiences, I’m tempted to change my mind.

Why did everyone I know experience a plethora of MINOR DISASTERS this week?  I mean, I’m not actually sold on the idea that there’s some crazy cosmic force acting in everyone’s life right now, other than maybe a few demons and an angel here and there, but there’s something going on. For a variety of reasons, I spent a disproportionate amount of time in tears during the last six days or so. Everything I touched LITERALLY turned to materialized Fail. If King Midas had his own soap opera, I’d be the Evil-Twin-Alter-Ego named Julio.

I won’t get into details but suffice it to say this week wasn’t very happy, but I’m happy to report that Friday at midnight my Fail Carriage turned back into a pretty pumpkin and some stuff went well. By “stuff”, I mean the engagement party Graham and I decided to host in my small, enclosed Brooklyn apartment. I actually had to move the sofa out onto the street to make room for more bodies, but 1) I wanted to get rid of that couch anyway and 2)now it’s like our building has an outdoor lobby or something. Next, I’m going to start dressing in a blue blazer and pretend to be the doorman. I could buzz people up and everything.

ANYWAY.

We pulled off the party surprisingly well thanks to help from Graham’s brother, who cooked and cleaned with us all day. People enjoyed the food I/we cooked and even though the guests included a friend from high school, two friends from the non-Harry Potter part of the interwebz and a LOT of  (very loud) Harry Potter fans and the awkward meter could have been VERY, VERY HIGH everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. The first thing Mia said when she walked in the door and saw our apartment full of happy people was, “I didn’t know you had friends!”  It surprised me too.

Following yesterday’s exhaustion and elation,I needed a day of recharging. Naturally, I just drank a lot of coffee and some pureed fruit at one of my favorite East Village secret hideaways while sort-of-almost studying for my upcoming Development of Christianity test. All in all it was a successful and non-disastrous couple of days while gives me hope for this week.

Because God has a sense of humor, He lead me to the Book of Job in my daily Bible Study this evening. So much for complaining about MY life, man. Seriously, next time you start feeling self-pitying and complaining to God/friends/family about the crap happening in life, it might be a good idea to read Job. I don’t want to *SPOIL* you since I know you’re probably waiting for the movie to come out, but the guy’s SUPER RICH and COMPLETELY HOLY and he loses everything including all his kids all at once. That’s just the first two chapters. Anyway, the moral of the story is that after that all happens HE PRAISES THE LORD.  Sorry for the capital letters and for sounding like a Sunday school teacher with a bad haircut and no teeth, but how crazy is that? My catastrophes are mostly not life threatening, nor do they involve the loss of my children or donkeys or goats or servants. Not that I have children, donkeys, goats or servants, but STILL. My self-challenge for the week is to praise the Lord even when things don’t go my way. He’s good all the time, after all. Not just when my horoscope says so.

If I were really holy, I’d end this post with a Bible verse from Job, but I’m not gonna. I’m going to make you read if for yourself. Well, I can’t make you, but I’m hoping the part about the donkeys made you curious. Plus, Job is from the Land of Uz which is the early precursor of the Land of Oz. Really. It’s on Wikipedia or something.

How were your weeks? Any catastrophes or blessings or donkeys?

*To some extent, my other half and roommate Mia is this person in my life, minus the karmic balance of the universe stuff. She reads this occasionally. Mia, here’s your shout-out. This long.

**They’re actually arachnids of some sort according to the internet.Whatever. They look crab-like to me.

A Blogiversary, Excuses and Other Tales

A year ago this month, the earth trembled, seas parted and angels sang as a new baby blog came gasping into the world. Actually, there was no trembling, gasping or singing, but I am sure  the metaphorical waters of the internet  rippled a little bit. By “a little bit” I mean, not really at all, but it’s cool to think about. In celebration of this (not so) monumentous occasion, I’ve compiled a list:

THINGS YOU CAN DO INSTEAD OF UPDATING YOUR BLOG

1. Read everyone else’s blog. This month is “Blog Every Day April” (BEDA) which means that a bunch of exponentially awesome people overload the internet with a new blog entry every day.  For the most part these blogs emanate as much awesome and wonderful as their authors, but “ya get weirdos in every breed” as Hagrid would say. Since I read the mediocre blogs in addition to the WONDERFUL blogs, I spend at least two hours every day JUST READING BLOGS. Think about all the WORLD CHANGING Words Can Keeler posts I could write during those two hours! I blame BEDA for KEEPING ME FROM BLOGGING. Irony?

2. Spend your “writing time” working on fiction and non-fiction projects for your Creative Writing class. I’m finally in an actual, formal creative writing course this semester and I’m kind of nerdily obsessed with it. (What? Me? Obsess? Shocker, I know.) I’m finally learning how to, you know, really write. When I’m not working on my own pieces for the class, I’m usually reading and giving feedback on other people’s pieces or else worrying about what everyone will say about my pieces during workshop. When I handed my  first short story to the class, I almost literally “cried out in anguish” like people do in Dickens novels and the Bible. Also, using a brightly colored pen to write “suggestions” on other people’s work IS SO MUCH FUN. Nothing is more satisfying than circling awkwardly worded phrases or crossing out chunks of unnecessary dialogue.Try it, you’ll see. You could even do it to this post if you want.

3.You start rehearsing for your first real show, in a real theater in New York. It’s not a huge show and it doesn’t pay anything and I’m only in one number, but it FEELS SO GOOD. (I needed a capslocked phrase for continuity’s sake.)

4. You decide to get married in four months and have to start thinking about things like cake servers and tulle and registries. Did you know there are THOUSANDS of different kinds of blenders in the world? THOUSANDS! There are even more kinds of cake servers.

I feel like it is wrong to end a list at “4″ but it’s also wrong to not update your blog for two months, unless you are J.K. Rowling in which case you can do no wrong.

I hereby vow to stop pretending I am J.K. Rowling and start blogging again more often. Not so much for you as for my ego. I feel more important if I have loads of uninteresting sentences published on the internet at regular intervals.

Is there anything you’d like me to blog about on Words Can Keeler? What kind of blogs do you like me to write? Don’t you hate this awkward use of second-person?

My Front Page Needs Newness

What’s that? The front page of Words Can Keeler is just crying out for an update? Well fine. But I don’t have anything particularly interesting to say.

Oh yeah, I started a new semester at school and for the first time ever in the history of my educational career, I do not have a single class I loathe. I genuinely enjoy sitting in class and doing my homework. The only thing I dislike about my college is t vapidity of the general student population, but the more Upper Level courses I take, the fewer dumb people I encounter. All is well on the academic front. (See how I did that? I just combined the last sentence of my favorite book with the title of my least favorite. You people should pay me, I swear.)

Since I last posted, Graham moved to New York City which has improved my quality of life by 100000%. He’s staying with me temporarily while he looks for a new job and apartment which basically means that I have an in-house servant to fan me and bring me drinks by the imaginary pool the most awesome person in the world in my house at the end of every day. I’m not really the easiest person to live with, but he hasn’t yet run away screaming and I haven’t yet thrown a frying pan at his head, so things are splendid on the domestic front as well. (Aside from that time I beat him with a pillow case full of oranges, but I don’t count that since it barely left a bruise. Also, I only hit him because he told me that my sandwiches were lacking that day which is totally untrue. I make awesome sandwiches.)

And that’s really it. Are you happy, front page?

Oatmeal Brownie Cookies

This isn’t a vegan food blog. If you’re looking for one of those try this link and this link and this link. It is, however, my blog and since my life often involves vegan cookies, I have given myself permission to blog about cookies from time to time. Don’t worry, you will not start seeing “Tofu Tuesdays” or “Flaxseed Fridays” or poems about nutritional yeast (well, maybe just one haiku).

As I have mentioned previously, I’m a baking fool. I bake when I am stressed, when I’m anxious and when I’m bored. I am also convinced that the best way to show someone I love them is to bake them something. For the most part, people seem to agree.

I’m known to alter recipes until they are almost indistinguishable from the original. It is rare that I actually create something all my own, but after a little bit of experimentation, I came up with this simple treat. This is not a breakthrough, change-the-world, presidential inauguration kind of cookie. More of an “I just got home from work/school/family reunion and just need something simple and chocolatey” kind of cookie. It has sort of a brownie-like texture without all of the messiness and complication brownies sometimes bring. Plus, it has oats in it so you can trick yourself into feel healthier. I used to think that oatmeal cookies were a kind of lame substitute for chocolate chip cookies, but these days I am throwing oats into everything. Maybe I’m trying to make up for all of the bad thoughts I had about oatmeal cookies as a child, or maybe I just like how their crispiness contrasts with the soft interior of the rest of the cookie.If you’re still really offended by oats though, feel free to leave them out and just enjoy the unadulterated chocolatey-ness.

Anyway, enough with the babble. Here’s the recipe!

Oatmeal Brownie Cookies.

1 cup all-purpose flour (though I suspect you could use whole wheat pastry flour for a healthier cookie)

¾ cup rolled oats

½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 tsp. baking soda

¼ tsp. salt

½ tsp. cinnamon

1/3 cup oil

½ cup almond, soy or rice milk

¾ cup sugar

1 tsp. vanilla extract

½ cup chocolate or white chocolate chips (strictly optional)

Preheat oven to 350.

In a large mixing bowl, combine oil, non-dairy milk, extracts and sugar. Mix well. Sift in dry ingredients. Mix until combined. The dough should be a little bit stickier than your average cookie dough. If you’re going to be decadent and use chocolate chips, fold them in here. Drop by the tablespoonful onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake for 8-10 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool on the cookie sheet for 2-3 minutes before transferring them to a cooling rack (or Tupperware container if you are me and don’t own a cooling rack). Gobble up.

Makes about 12-14 cookies.

I have been trying to consume less wheat lately, so I’m working on a wheat-free version of this cookie too.

Go ahead and give these a try. I promise you, vegan baking isn’t scary! Plus, you’ll become the most popular kid on the playground if you bring cookies with chocolate and oatmeal and brownie-like consistency.