Des.

It's amazing how a person you hardly knew can change your life in an instant. The summer of 2004 started like any other for me. It was the summer between my senior year of high school and my freshman year at K-State. I had only recently started dating my first (and only) real boyfriend (I know, I know). My 18th birthday was just a week prior, and I was planning on spending my summer recuperating from shoulder surgery, working, and spending time with Cellorictus (CR) before he went to Interlochen and I left for college. CR and I had met while he was playing his cello for my high school's musical, and I was instantly smitten. He's a very cute boy. If I weren't a raging lesbo, we'd probably be married by now. Yikes. Anyhow. CR's family initially intimidated the shit out of me. Momma T is quite the mother bear. I adore her, even after all these years. CR's dad, Bart, helped me through one of the toughest periods of my life, and I am thankful for him everyday. CR had two brothers, Destry and Lucas. Lucas will always be my little brother, even though he's huge, and not a twelve year old boy anymore. Destry was a year behind me in school, but only a few months younger than me age-wise. This is about him, his story, and how it touched, and continues to touch so many lives.

brotherly love

 I've written extensively on what it means to me to turn 25. Honestly, one of the main reasons I've been so pensive about this milestone is because Des would be turning 25 this Saturday, the 17th. I can't say that I knew Destry extremely well. I think that the extent of our conversations included "How's your shoulder?" and "So, you're dating my brother, eh? Way to go, Rans, getting the older woman." If only I had known, I would have sat down and talked with him for hours, or maybe invited him along on one of our Bogey's trips. Today, I carry Destry and his family with me everywhere. He is a part of me, just like my own siblings. When I jumped off of the waterfall at Waka on my 25th birthday, Des was with me.  I think about him on a daily basis. It saddens me that he won't be eating crab legs off of the red "You Are Very Special Today" plate for his birthday. My heart constantly aches for his entire family. I know how much I've changed since I was 18, and hate that we are left to wonder who Destry would have been. I'm positive that he would have been great.

Destry was a beautiful, motivated, talented, intelligent young man who was unfairly stolen from his family on June 10, 2004. Because of shoddy police work, his death was ruled a suicide. Anyone who knew Destry knows that he would have never taken his own life. I won't go in to the circumstances surrounding his death, because that should be left for someone closer to him to tell. In fact, his father wrote a book about it. I highly recommend you read it. You can find it at www.apristinesuicide.com. I haven't read it yet, partially because I know the truth already, and also because I know that it will turn me in to a blubbering mess, and I will have no choice but to drive home and hug Momma T and Bart until the tears stop flowing.

Destry Greer Allen

Destry was named after a Jimmy Stewart character from the movie "Destry Rides Again." At the end of the movie, Tom Destry, Jr. rides off in to the sunset, as the hero always does in westerns after justice has been served. If I close my eyes and imagine really hard, I can see Destry riding off in to the sunset, though there has been no justice for this young man. I hope that one day there will be peace for his family and those that loved him so. Until then, I will never forget him, and I will always lay a rock upon his headstone when I am home. For every birthday I have, I will remember and celebrate the life of Destry Greer Allen.

Happy 25th Birthday, Destry.

My Boydog

I have the greatest dog in the world. I know everyone says that, but Boydog is without a doubt the best dog I could have ever asked for. It all started one November. Kodymundi was pregnant with Fisher's pups, and their approximated due date was The Peach's birthday. If the puppies came that day, Peach was going to get one of them. Well, surprise, they did! Peach picked out a beautiful little blue girl for herself, and that was that. One day, I went with Peach to meet Bluegirl, and was introduced to an adorable little blue heeler boy who didn't have a home yet. He had a big black patch over one eye, floppy ears, and a little red bow tie on his chest. I snuggled him and he immediately fell asleep in my hands. He was SO TINY!! I was smitten, to say the least. I named him right there on the spot. Cash. It took me a few days to decide I really wanted to take on the responsibility of a puppy. No shit, best decision I've ever made.

le sigh.

The Peach and I took possession of our "bastard children" right before Christmas. Bluegirl and Boydog are the best siblings ever. Bluegirl is kind of snatchy but incredibly sweet when she wants to be, and Boydog is just the most affectionate, talkative young man ever. They used to play tug of war for hours at Sixteenth Street. Peach and I would get in their corners and "coach" our dogs while they played. There were hours of fetch and potty training, tricks and learning manners. Both pups proved to be ridiculously intelligent, and training was a breeze with both of them. They never could figure out the magic Cheez-It box though. Amazingly, snacks just keep coming out of that red thing!

Boydog also got his training as a psychiatrist and confidant while he was a wee lad. The nights I was so deep in denial about my sexuality and the things I was feeling, Boydog would lay with me and listen while I told him about the demons that I kept locked in the vault of my soul. He let me squeeze the life out of him while I cried, and he always licked my face to let me know he cared. Every morning, even when I didn't want to get out of bed and didn't feel like I could go on anymore, Boydog would sit next to me and put his paw on my hand until I gave him his "morning scratches" and took him out to potty. He always made sure I got out of bed. If I was sad, he always knew. When I came home from class, it was always like Christmas morning for Boydog. He saved my life time and time again. Every time I was in the depths of my depression and self-loathing, Boydog always reminded me that I wasn't alone.

he likes snow.

Today when I woke up, Boydog was not in bed, which is weird for him. He has always had a history of urinary tract problems, but I thought that he was over his latest issue. I found him sitting by the back door, so I let him out and watched to see what he would do. Immediately he started to get sick and clearly was having trouble going potty. I brought him in and he laid down on the couch next to me, then crawled in my lap and refused to move. He would not let me put him down or move him. I knew something was up, but it wasn't until he started panting frantically and trembling in my arms that I understood he needed to see a veterinarian. I called one local vet, who didn't seem to get that this was an emergency, and told me they could see him in three hours. Not cool. I took the appointment, but then looked at Boydog and saw how sad and scared his soft brown eyes were and decided to try another vet. After telling the second vet what was going on, they told me to bring him in immediately. After an initial exam, I left him there (hardest thing i've ever been through) so he could have x-rays and then be taken care of. Dr. Hess called me about an hour later to let me know that Cash had two stones, and that surgery would be the best option for him.

such soul, this one has.

Guys, not gonna lie, this was the scariest day of my life. I didn't know what was wrong with my Boydog, I couldn't take his pain away, and I felt more out of control than I ever have. Leaving him at the clinic and driving home, I was a hysterical puddle of snot and tears. It was bad. I was just positive that I was going to get a call that he didn't make it or that the damage was worse than they thought. It was terrifying. Thankfully, Boydog came through the surgery like a champ, and he gets to come home tomorrow. On my way home from work I stopped to visit him, and he looked soooo sad. He started crying when I knelt down to love on him, and my heart broke into a million little grains of sand. The vet tech said she had never seen a dog react that way to their owner. So like I said, I have the best dog ever. I wouldn't be around without Johnny Cassius Clay Fisher Mundi.

you talkin to us?

june happens

Well, it came and went, I turned 25, and I'm still alive.I know June isn't quiiiite over yet, but Molly keeps hinting that I need to write a post about turning 25, so here it is. I HAD THE BEST FREAKING 25TH BIRTHDAY EVER.It started a little early..BassLady, Belt and I headed to Mulberry Mountain, Arkansas on the first for Wakarusa.that was a trip.in more ways than one. the three of us were scheduled to work parking from 3-10 that day, so after arriving we set up camp, caught a quick nap and downed a few beers, then headed out to park the fools who were on their way. Belt and I got sent over to the Riverside Camping section, where the box office was located. Everyone who attended Waka went through this gate to get in. Shit got real crazy, real fast. I tried to find a map so that you might understand what I'm laying down here, but there weren't any that showed where Riverside was in comparison to the main festival grounds. Anyway, I started out asking people if they had A.)VIP tickets, B.)Early Bird passes, or C.) an RV pass, which got them into the festival before midnight. After a few hours of doing this, my master parking potential was noticed by our horrible, terrible, no good supervisor, who must not be named. Kneegel. That's it. I got sent to the top of the hill, where people were coming down into Riverside. I spent my night with a little glowing orange stick, directing people down the mountain. Yeah, I was that kid. Traffic jams lead to cranky people, and bad directions lead to REALLY cranky people. For the record: "Turn left at the top of the hill, then an almost immediate right on to Hwy 23. Go about three miles, the festival is on the right side of the road, Westwoods camping is on your left. Look close, you might miss it." I'm not sure how many times I said that while I was working, but if I managed to remember it after being at Waka and participating in Waka-havior, it must have been quite a few. Working parking was dusty, hot, and fun. At least I enjoyed it. I got to see ALL kinds of people. Every kind of person under the sun. Big people, little people, hippies, ravers, homos, Hare Krishna, you name it. The diversity warmed my heart. The sun burned my skin.

After we got our work shifts done (we worked the next day from 8-3, too), it was finally time to have fun. BassLady and I caught one Ms. Grace Potter, and OHMYGOD. BassLady's face totally melted. She swears that when Grace Potter performs, there is nothing sexier happening on Earth. I agreed until later in the month (more on that in a bit).Then we caught a bit of Buckethead before going back to the camp to re-fuel on PBR and KD. I think there was some food involved too. After working both days, we were pretty bushed. We crashed out early the first night while listening to Split Lip Rayfield rock out in the Outpost tent, which was about 10 feet from our camp. Talk about being rocked to sleep.

that's a whole lot of sexy right there.

Day Two of the festival was pretty damn great. We saw Trombone Shorty. no words. After TS, we were introduced to the firestorm that is Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings. That little lady can dance like no other. She might give Ms. Turner a run for her money.For reals, yo. Sharon Jones led in to JJ Grey and Mofro, who are good if you like southern rock. BassLady and I took our pit stop after his show, before going to see Galactic in the Revival Tent. I have an entire series of photos titled "Galactic While Tipsy." That's about all there was to that. Our evening lullaby that night came courtesy of Skrillex.

Day Three of Waka was my 25th birthday. BassLady and I went and grabbed some breakfast in the main grounds, walked up and down Shakedown Street, and then went to find Belt because we had planned on going to the waterfall that day. Before I go any further, I must say that if you ever have a chance to go to Mulberry Mountain, you have to do the waterfall hike. It's totes worth it. The three of us set out to find the Trail Head and headed down the mountain. The hike is about a mile and a half, I think, and it seems like a piece of cake going down. After getting down the mtn., we stripped off our clothes and jumped off a cliff. What an awesome way to start 25. For me, it was like I left all the shit that came with 24 on the ledge of the cliff. Pure exhilaration. We climbed back up the waterfall, which wasn't as calming as I always imagined it would be. That shit is cold, and it hits you hard, and those rocks you're trying to climb are slippery as..well. that's not appropriate, my mother reads this.

it's like they spread ky jelly all over those rocks, but it's not water soluble.

We hung out down at the river for awhile, taking naps on giant water-cooled slabs of slate and people watching. Then. oh god then. we climbed back UP the mountain. I know I said that if you go, you have to do the trek, but here's a disclaimer. IF YOU HAVE HAD MONO WITHIN THE PAST MONTH & ARE STILL NOT 100%, THINK TWICE. after you've thought twice, climb the fucking mountain. Still worth it. I thought I was dying. BassLady maintains that needing to stop and rest twice is not dying, but sort of normal. I disagree. I'm going to make that mountain my bitch in a few months. just sayin.

i'm coming for you, waterfall hike.

Eventually we made it back to camp. rest, beer, food, water, beer, makeshift bath at the hydrants, porta potty time, whiskey, and then it was time for the most epic birthday concerts EVER. First up, Yo Mama's Big Fat Booty Band. yes, please. moar. then, Ozomatli. mmhmm, it keeps getting better. Mumford and Sons, with Grupo Fantasma across the way at Revival. Break for food and beer (and water.lots and lots of water ftw.), then to Ben Harper and Relentless7.Pan to BassLady running across the main venue screaming "THIS IS MY SOOOOONG!" love ben harper. I feel like we saw a show after that, but I know there was more beer and whiskey involved, so I don't really remember. we did hang out at camp quite a bit that night. i think.so many great things happened that day. thanks to BassLady, Belt, and TheOtherB (ha!) for such a wonderful damn day. It was exactly what I wanted/needed to start this year off right.

BassLady and I headed home early Sunday. I gave my breakfast cheese fries to a clown, we took a final trip down Shakedown Street, broke down camp and headed back to the Sunflower State. belt stuck around an extra day and caught a ride home with a friend. (didn't want you to think we'd just left her there.tempting, but not our style.) We saved one bigass turtle on the way home, and made it back to Emporia around 5 or 6 in the evening. Not too bad.

My favorite things about Waka this year: clothing modification. fat tire and blue moon in CANS. the sun. water. jumping off of a cliff. amazing music. watching people do it behind our tent. being filthy. diversity. the sunset over mulberry mountain. giant clouds of weed smoke. loving everyone around.

mulberry mountain sunset

BUT WAIT! that all happened in the first few days of June! There is more to talk about..like how I got to see George Clinton and Parliament Funkadelic in my hometown, which I NEVER, EVER, EVER thought would happen. They were pretty good. Bad venue, as we all know the Bi-Center is.

After PFunk, I was privileged enough to be the proud owner of two tickets to see brandi carlile and ray lemontagne at starlight theater in KC. the show was great. imo, brandi carlile needed to play for a couple more hours. i just freaking love her. And I think she is sexier than grace potter, though I must say that when grace runs across a stage in stilettos, that's pretty ridiculously hot. Redd accompanied me to the show that night, which was great. It was super fun catching up with her.

June was freaking faaaantastic. I haven't had that much fun in..oh, about two and a half years. I am truly sad to see it end. July is shaping up to be pretty great too. guess what, y'all? The Druid is coming! He'll be here on the 7th. Look for a possible co-writer on my adventures for next month. We're sure to get up to some sort of trouble.

my musings on destination weddings.

I know it's been ages since I posted on here, and I have LOTS of things to write about. I turned 25, went to Wakarusa, saw PFunk, Brandi Carlile, and Dirtfoot, and basically have had the most radical summer of my life, so far. Instead of writing about those things today, though, I got to thinking about weddings, which led to other thoughts, all of which are leading in to this rant. So many of my friends and childhood acquaintances are getting married, or have already. Most of them got married close to home, but a few chose a destination wedding. Which got me to thinking about the possibility of me, myself, getting married. First, I have to find the woman of my dreams. She hasn't come around yet, I don't think. So I've got time. Phew. Destination weddings are great. You get to go somewhere exotic and celebrate the beginning of your life with someone in a setting that you are likely to never forget. My sister and brother in law were married in Italy, and it was perfect for them. They went by themselves, and we got a few pictures of the ceremony, and even more pictures of the Ferrari factory. Signs of what was to come, eh? I digress.

 Back to my feelings on mawwiage. I envy those who have the ability to go and be married somewhere grand and unexpected. More than that though, I envy those who can go to their local courthouse, declare that they want to get married, sign a piece of paper, and then have their wedding in their hometown, surrounded by their family and friends.

I have no choice but to have a destination wedding. I CAN'T go down to the courthouse with my girlfriend, fill out the forms, and make her my wife. Some days, I get so damn mad because that's just not fair. It's not fucking fair. If I someday find the woman I want to spend my life with, we will have to jump through flaming hoops of death just to put our names on the same piece of paper that says we're married. We'll have to make arrangements to go to another state or country, taking away the ability to share our happiness with the microcosm of families and friends that weddings connect. Sure, we could have a party to celebrate our union at a later date, but what if that's not what we want? What if my future wife wants to get married in her parents' backyard surrounded by all of our friends?What if I want to invite all of my extended family and my two elderly grandmothers? What then? My options are slim to none. I will HAVE to be married in another state, and when my wife and I come home, our marriage WON'T EVEN BE RECOGNIZED by the state that I live in. We'll just be a couple of women living together. If we choose to adopt children, we may not both be able to legally be named parents of the child. If something happens to my wife or I, we could be denied the opportunity to be together in the hospital.

I'm not really in the mood to go into the gay marriage arguments and counter-arguments. They don't really matter, anyway. All that should matter is two people, regardless of gender, wanting to spend the rest of their lives together. Forget your God, and how he says it is wrong. That guy was all about the love, they've been lying to you with all that guilt and hate. Forget the idea that queers getting married will weaken the idea of "traditional" marriage. If the US divorce rate is any indicator, someone already beat us to it. Unless all of those divorces are caused by raging home-wrecking lesbian affairs. In which case, ladies, kudos to you, you sneaky homos.

I realize that this is rambling and slightly over the top. My apologies to you, reader. I am just so frustrated with the hetero normative privileges of the world. I am a person too. I love, and even though I will always put on my best face and celebrate with you, every wedding I attend makes me wonder if I will ever be able to share my own love in that way. Not because of the whole "no girlfriend" thing..but because I worry that our society will never accept my relationships as valid. No matter how much my mom loves my girlfriend, or how well I bond with her dad, there will ALWAYS be those people there to tell us that we're not a legitimate couple. Unfortunately, they seem to be the majority. Which totally sucks, by the way. Completely. I wish I could tell everyone of those people that the love they experience with their significant other is worthless. But you know, haters gonna hate, and lovers gonna love. And the hate is no way to promote positive change, which is kind of what I'm all about, in case you don't know me. Sometimes I just get a little worked up.

I feel better now. I'll write something happier and easier to read later.

In which the Druid and I become One

It was either my first junior year of college or my first senior year..I don't really remember, but it was the most fateful of occasions that day when I walked in to History 588, Nazi Germany. I sat in my usual spot on the back riser, right where Dr. Maner could see my face but not the expressions brought about by the internet surfing I was undoubtedly doing in class.(Sorry Dr. Maner, and professors everywhere!) Next to me was a hairy, big guy. We had been sitting next to one another for weeks of lecture but had never spoken. Well, this day he asked me if I was feeling alright. Apparently my eyes were rather...bloodshot. Allergies, I replied. Me too, he said. And we settled right down in to what was probably a riveting lecture on the psychological warfare used in pre-war Germanic Europe. Seriously, if you ever have a chance to take this class, call your doctor. You'll need anti-depressants before the second week is over. After class, my neighbor asked me if I wanted to come over and hang out. Of course, I did.

Thus began two years of debauchery and greatness.

                                                              watch out world, we're coming for you.


The Druid is an interesting character. Born in Texas, and raised in Wisconsin to two native Kansans, he suffers from some minor identity issues. As in, he can't decide where he is from. If you ask him though, he'll tell you he wasn't raised in Kansas, but he is a Kansan. And he is, in every sense of the word. He's kind of a nihilist now, though when I met him he was still a fairly Catholic frat boy. Shortly after we met- within a week- we were inseparable. People were beginning to ask questions. Questions like- "Why don't you date that boy you're always with?" and "Are you guys dating?" The Druid and I would never, ever, ever work as a couple.I shudder at the thought. (I love you, Druid.I know you're making an appalled face right now.) First off, he's a boy and I like girls. But more than that, he's just The Druid. Maybe if I can tell a few of our stories, you might understand why we are just the best of friends. I plan to write three or four, all of them a separate entry. Here is the first of the series, In Which We...

Exhibit A: In Which We Survived the Ice Storm
December.2007.Manhattan, Kansas. For a better part of my college experience, I lived in an amazing place. We usually just refer to it as Sixteenth Street. I lived there along with Georgia Peach, Bass Lady, Boydog, Boydog's sister (she needs a good codename.ideas?), the peach's brother "B", an anthropology student "Teawrapper", some rats, some turtles, a few snakes, and a couple of cats that roamed the neighborhood. By this time, the Druid had become a next to permanent fixture on our couch, and we considered him a roommate. Seriously. It was hard to get him off of the couch.It began to rain in the afternoon. I think this was the weekend before finals? Or maybe the Monday of Finals Week. At any rate, we knew it was going to get bad. The Druid was at his apartment for once, probably playing WOW or working on his Hist 586 paper for the Hoffinator. At Sixteenth Street, B, Teawrapper and I stood on the porch and watched the rain turn to icing rain. We knew we were in for a bout of trouble when the branches on the tree out front touched the ground. That night, I was on the phone with The Druid when the entire town lost power. "I think Wal-Mart just blew up! There's a lot of green and yellow in the sky right now over that way.Holy Shit. Do you think I should go looting?"-The Druid's description of the events that transpired that night.

                                                               i know a place that i love full well..

The next day, we woke up to cold. Extreme cold. Did I mention that we had no heat? Finals were cancelled all over the board, but of course, history papers were still due on time. Because you had all semester to work on them, professors didn't worry about a little ice. Um, yeah...'bout that. I had a ten page paper due for the Bontronic that I hadn't even started. The Druid was finishing his 586 paper (the most important paper in your undergrad career at KSU), but still had somewhere from 5-10 pages left to write, edit, rewrite, and then edit again before it went to the Hoffinator.

Well, the first day we assumed that the power would be back on very soon. No one did anything scholastic, we all thought that we wouldn't have to worry about it. So what do you DO when you have no power, there are 6 inches of ice on the ground, and you really, really shouldn't drive anywhere? Easy. You have a damn party! Someone showed up with Apple Cider, Hot Damn and Butterscotch Schnapps, and suddenly it wasn't so cold anymore. There was ice soccer on the street in front of our house, and we capped off the lovely evening by singing christmas carols by candlelight in the sweet tent that the Bass Lady and I had constructed to try and capture as much heat as possible. Thinking back on it, we built that tent with the only open side facing our brick fireplace. Probably didn't retain much heat, actually. We attempted to cook for ourselves with a camping stove inside, and are hella lucky we didn't blow up the house or give ourselves carbon monoxide poisoning. The house had actually thrown a small fete the weekend before to celebrate..something. I think maybe the Bass Lady was leaving for her student teaching gig. Consequently, we had a half-full keg of Natty Light in our laundry room. It ended up proving invaluable during the ordeal.

After we went another day without power, we decided that it was probably inevitable that we would have to spend the rest of our finals week in Hale, because the University had power, so we thought we should finish those papers we started. Together, the Druid and I slid the 6 blocks to the library and entrenched ourselves at a table on the fourth floor, our favorite. Oh..it was warrrrrrrrm. Lovely. We had a system. No talking unless it's an emergency, like a funny kid running through the stacks or someone falling asleep at their laptop. Every 30 minutes, we would get up and stretch our legs, run down to the basement for fifty cent vending machine coffee, or fetch books from the stacks. No talking to anyone via instant messaging, cell phones could only be used if it was my girlfriend, one of our mothers, or in later editions of late night at hale, the Attorney. Every hour on the hour, we took a picture documenting our progress and how much longer we would be in the library.. We actually have more than one of these late night at the library albums. We tended to make procrastination into a habit after this.

I finally finished my paper at around 3am. I know this because of the photo evidence. The Druid wasn't so lucky..I think he was there until 5ish. We ended up going an entire week without power. The walk home from Hale that night was without a doubt the scariest thing I have ever done. It was just a few blocks, but it was 3 in the morning. And there was no power in our part of town. At all. No streetlamps + icy sidewalks = freaky,long, frightening walk home. Upon arriving home, I found the Bass Lady, The Peach, Boydog, and Boydog's sister all cuddled up in the same bed under every blanket we owned. You better believe I got in on that. Warmth!

The Druid did finish his paper, and if memory serves me correctly, he did very well. The Hoffinator did not spit him out after chewing, as he is wont to do. I don't think I got an A on that paper. I don't think the Bontronic ever gave me an A, really. She usually could tell when I wrote the paper the night before, and I suffered for it..and yet I never changed my stripes. Together, the Druid and I would make the ritual trek to Hale Library and work on our papers, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. I imagine that when he visits this summer, we'll go visit just because we can. I bet we'll be all over that history department, actually. I should warn someone.

One year ago, One month from now.

One month from today is my 25th birthday.ohfuck.i'm not quite sure how to feel about this.No, it's not really a big deal, but I see it as the first of the "un-fun" birthdays. You know, the ones before this are usually pretty awesome.When you're One, you get to put your face in a cake. At Sixteen, you get your Driver's License (for me, this was 14, but whatevs.I had to drive around with a broken ball bearing in my truck.be jealous.) And then there's Eighteen, when you get your "independence," and of course, the most infamous Twenty-One. My most vivid memory of my twenty-first was riding in the back of an El Camino with my friend Mike from Sixteenth Street to Aggieville. Good times.

                                                       those cars are going the wrong way down Moro!! 

OK.So, back to being 25.I know, it's just a number, you're only as old as you feel, etc.,etc...but I'm not worried about the number, or the fact that I'm a quarter century old. Nope, not at all. Truthfully, I just keep thinking about WHO I AM AT 25. So many questions. Was this who I thought I would be? No, but I truly like myself. Am I happy where I am? Yes, mostly. Do I have great friends and family who love me? Yep. So far, so good. And then the kicker. Am I proud of the things I have done, for who I've been and for who I've loved? UGH. Um....well, see, yes and NOOOOOO. I haven't always been the most upstanding citizen. Sorry Molly. 

Sure, I've done lots of cool stuff. I've been to great festivals,had good food, met a PLETHORA of interesting people, and I have some pretty epic tales to tell about all of these things.Plus, the love affairs were wunnerful. But it keeps getting at me that those things just aren't all that important. Realizing this...led me to wonder about what IS important. And I have NO IDEA. I don't think I'm suppose to.And I know I said that the plethora of people I know isn't that important, but I am 99.9% sure he is the father. It takes a village to raise a child, after all. I think it might take an entire county to raise this almost-25 year old.

                                                                                 what a lovely place.

I have so many feelings about being 25. I look at other people my age (I think I have 10 friends in my close vicinity also turning 25 in the next 3-4 months, and some who have already celebrated) and I can't help but wonder if they feel the same way I do. Are they wondering as blindly through this cold night as I? I freaking hope so.Maybe we can combine our energy and teach each other things. Wouldn't that be awesome? Oh. Wait. I'm being told we already do that. Man, we rock. Most often, I think about where I was one month from 24. Baby, I've come a long damn way. And it sucked. Good riddance, 24. You were a rough, rough year. Rough. I actually have amends to make for the things you did, 24. I was NOT cool. Man..the more I think about it, the more 24 sucked. And it's being capped off by mono. 

So here it is. I'm leaving 24 a battle hardened all-powerful amazon warrior. I've seen some shit this year, y'all. To be honest, it wasn't all bad. I did get to go to Disney. I just can't believe that just a year ago I was a fresh young newbie entering the workforce. And that first job, it was a doozie. Let me tell you. If you don't really want to work for it, marry a DUI attorney. That's all I'm gonna say. And I was in a very committed relationship that was making me miserable, but I felt powerless to escape. 24 saw the death of that, and it has made me such a more complete person.I totally get it now. As I face 25, I can see that while 24 was an incredibly hard year, it is part of that brick foundation that will help me answer my ultimate question, to which the answer is 42. I'm okay with the people I loved during 24. I did regain some mucho importante amigos..Georgia Peach, The Druid, Bass Lady, and Princess Sagging Buns..oh how I love you. Bass Lady, I should write a post just about you. Really. Thanks. You were like a defibrillator on my broken heart. Now come cut my hairs. :)

While I wouldn't replay the past year of my life..for anything..ANYTHING, I am so thankful that it happened. Mainly because I don't think you can be 25 without being 24..something about counting and numbers, but also because I feel like maybe it opened my eyes a little bit. Like I'm not quite as blind as I was one year ago. It is almost as if 24 was just a test.To see if I was paying attention to the direction my life was headed in..to ask if the energy coming from me and those directly around me is the energy that I want to influence my happiness. I'm glad I took the warning. Twenty-Five is looking like it's going to be awesome. With a start like Wakarusa, of course it will be. I hope that in one year, I'm sitting in bed writing about how sweet 25 was, and how I'm looking forward to 26. Oh the changes! I'm so excited. 

See? Lots of feelings.

Molly

perhaps i should have started writing this blog sooner.my mind is a finely tuned piece of machinery, and it runs constantly. i fully believe that we should all function like this. i sit and think, and think, and think..until i realize that it is 12:45, i have to be to The Emporium at 1:00, and i've not yet started to de-wrinkle my clothing, which is in a pile, on the floor, NEXT to the laundry basket. yikers. i spent the day today thinking about what I wanted to write on here when I got home. where to start, what to share (I'll use discretion.thanks, Molly) and how to share it. i'm a bit nervy about writing this blog, too. will people hate it and think i'm a fool? i can handle being a fool. do it all the time. but what if people hate this? ugh. the thought makes me a little nauseous. this kid doesn't do hate very well.

hate. what a good place to start. see, i'm from Kansas. yes, that same devoid wasteland that has produced such wonders as Carrie Nation and that jerkface fred phelps. Fred and I have had our run-ins over the years. Such a lovely band of people, Westboro is. So let's talk about hate, and Kansas, and Molly. I have never been able to understand hate. ever. yes, i strongly dislike people and things, but hate just isn't a part of my soul. i don't get where it comes from.Mick and Molly raised me on love. Really. We didn't have much, but I always had my momma, and my poppa, and even when i didn't really have MY poppa (yes, explanation needed.), everything was still going to be okay. 

as a kid, Molly and i would have discussions about what it meant to be accepting and tolerant. i was on every sports team imaginable, and Molly would come to all of my games, no matter how far. i always chose to ride home with her, instead of on the bus, and we would talk about anything, and everything. i kept my biggest secret for college and a long night of whiskey drinking (more on that to come), but i always knew that no matter what I needed, she would be there with a hug and an encouraging word. Mick and i had more of a strained relationship (and a very rocky road), but he (we) came around and now i can't imagine things having happened any differently than they did. They were wonderful parents, and Molly's liberal librarian ways are visible in almost everything i do.
Molly does hate. she hates hate. i remember her crying when the oklahoma city bombing happened. i remember talking with her on 9/11, about what it meant and why we were targeted that day. i remember her describing fred phelps protesting the funeral of a family member, and why that was wrong. i also remember my first encounter with phelps. i was 4, the same year i knew i was a lesbian. Aunt Bee, Molly, Perfect Child and i were in Topeka to see Cats, my first musical (4 was a big year for me). Phelps and his band of evil were protesting because "all dancers are fags". how positively interesting.since then, there have been many more encounters. it seems like he is everywhere. at college, at high schools, funerals, outside city hall. the man is like a bad virus. a really, really bad virus.
If I have learned only one thing from Molly, it is love. Because she loved me so much, I love others so much more. Please, if you're a parent and you read this, make sure you're raising your child on love. It's like Vitamin C for one's soul. Not chicken soup. Like Vitamin C, love heals, it protects, and too much of it might make you a little sick, but it probably won't kill you. Unlike hate. Hate devours those it touches. It's more like....carbolic acid. So. If you're a young woman (or man) reading this, know that there is love. Even if all you see is hate, and all you experience is someone telling you you're wrong for what you feel, or that someone else is wrong for what they look like, know that out there, someone loves you. I'll introduce you to my momma. She'll love you, too.
In summation, this post, which was written, re-written, edited, deleted and re-written, is to my mom. And though I know you aren't the hugest CSNY fan, this song reminds me so much of you.

You, who are on the road must have a code that you can live by.
And so become yourself because the past is just a good bye.
Teach your children well, their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix, the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

And you, of the tender years can't know the fears that your elders grew by,
And so please help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die.
Teach your parents well, their children's hell will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix,the one you'll know by.
Don't you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.

EDIT: I've been thinking quite a lot about this post. It should have been two. Molly deserves a post all to herself, and so does Kansas, so I'm re-writing them. The Kansas post will be later on...and it will be, as Kansas is, epic.