The five steps of recovery: You don't suck at life. Not yet, anyway.

A month back, my roommate announced she was quitting coffee. Amidst the various withdrawal-induced rants and attempts to understand that which can't be understood, I sent her an email documenting the necessary steps towards recovery. Here I've expounded to give the full effect.

--
My friend, you will go through many stages of grief, some more than once. The key is to let yourself feel it, and to lean on the people who don’t judge you for being an emotional train wreck. (That would be me. You can pay me in Reeses Pieces.)


1. Shock: Disbelief, inability to process the change, unwillingness to accept they could possibly be so ignorant and clueless. Denial is understandable; you trusted them. It's a virtue. Getting bitten in the a$$ is not ideal, but it won't kill you either. The good news is, you have reinforcements who are more than willing to drive home the honest facts. Plus we aren't blind like you, so we're probably more reliable.


2. Anger: There are three parts: a) pure, unadulterated and passionate rage towards their inconsideration, which you will cycle through then spit out, b) now is also when you will find yourself most willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, for reasons you can't figure out.. not to worry, I am here to slap that bold-faced lie right out of you, and c) part of this anger will be towards yourself, for letting it get as far as it did. You will find self-loathing to be the worst kind of anger, and the hardest to get over. Channeling your rage via the effort to be grateful for those in your life who are both genuine and worth the work, is a far more efficient use of your time and energy.


3. Realization: Here you will likely have to eat some crow upon realizing part of the blame is yours. Lots of sighs and eyerolls in this stage. It's okay, it's healthy. You will also learn restraint, as you come to grips with the fact that they will never know or care to acknowledge what they did, and you are left to move on without answers. Which is fine, because when you come out the other end of this love-fest, you'll realize you didn't need those anyway. You will also realize the many merits of Bailey's Irish Cream.


4. More Anger: Though the majority of your anger will have been dealt with by now, this stage will be more frustrating because by now, you’ve chewed on it longer and the fact that you’re still dwelling, is a sign it must've been pretty bad. That, or you're just stubborn as rocks. Hence the fits and giggles this second time around.


5. More Shock/Pure Annoyance: This will be amplified by anger, when they-who-shall-remain-nameless decide to reach out in all their glorious denial and extend the unsolicited olive branch (I'll stop you right there and say that how they ever got it in the first place, I don't knnnoooow) which is, "Let's be friends". You will want to vomit any number of responses, but instead will offer the legitimate I HAVE ENOUGH FRIENDS, THANKS BUT NO THANKS and leave it at that. They won't understand, and they'll try a few rebuttals, but trust me, you don't care.


6. Acceptance: You will do what you should’ve done all along, and accept that it happened then move on. Face it, your stubborn will to see vindication is the only reason you’ve held on this long.


I guess that's six.

Why not keep going? The seventh step is the best because when all is said and done, you are left simply with what you've known all along: that the God you serve is looking out for you, that this whole thing happened because He considered you able to persevere. What is more, His allowance means that no matter the packaging, little or lot of pain, it's still good. Be thankful. Count your dang blessings. And recognize that you will one day look back and see the growth you endured, the lessons you learned, and you'll have a newfound appreciation for the people who loved you through it all.

Because trust me, sticking by someone when they're quitting coffee is not a short order.


I should’ve been a counselor.


-your roommate

Three day weekends were made for abusing the cat.

This past weekend was a much-needed and somewhat relaxing one. I need those every now and again. I'm currently in the busy-with-no-room-for-error mode, and for a holiday to come along was glorious. 


Fri/Sat = Munchkinland. No, really. We rehearsed Munchkinland. I yelled a lot. But I love them. And it's getting there.

Sunday = I spent the morning at church, on worship duty. I may or may not have bribed the boys with coffee if they showed up on time (though the breakfast of ding-dong's was not my idea). I sang a special during communion, accompanied by my talented guitarist... after we'd rehearsed it once, mindful to watch one another for the sake of timing, one of the other's lipped off with SING IT AGAIN, ONLY THIS TIME SING IT TO JESUS. So I turned around and said NOBODY ASKED YOU, prompting the Children's Ministry Pastor to assert that my, aren't we sassy today? After a first service of technical difficulties and team miscommunication, we set out for the traditional get-together-at-the-bagel-place and I attempted to set the record straight with my amazing executive decision-making skills. I think I got my point across, though it's always hard to tell when their only response is to spend ten minutes showing eachother a dozen different ways to fist bump. Never have I seen so many college boys giggle like so many college girls.

Family dinner was low-key. We were short half the crew, and the other half of us took naps. It was then pointed out that any day which includes Dad singing the Star Spangled Banner every five minutes, Kyle swinging the cat in circles then sending it down the stairs, and me holding a cup to my mouth and making farting noises, is better described as 'entertainment'.


It's relative. No injuries and less than 10 people = low-key.


Monday = slept in. Had coffee & game-time with Cassie. She shut me out in Farkle, which was embarrassing. So I came back to kick her butt at Bananagrams and this, my friends, is how it's done:

Because we all need some Sexy Beer.

I am this close to implanting a flag and declaring it The United States of Annie.

I would like to say something. For the record. So that a month down the road when my always-right-and-never-wrong roommate decides to crown herself Queen of Everything because I lit the stove on fire again (and isn't that exactly what she said would happen?), I have documented reminders that she, too, is human. I've long maintained that she can contradict and complain with the best of 'em, though she claims lack of proof. Until now. Watch out, you're about to bear witness to the #1 reason why living with this woman is the very same reason why I plan to have only sons. No daughters. Just sons.

I have to be very careful when calling Robin to the carpet, as if she doesn't have a legitimate statement of defense, her default fallback is: what would you know? You're just the skinny roommate. You live life in a bubble of fortune, where your foremost complaint is being liked by too many guys. Poor, poor you.

Despite how much I'd love to show her my cottage-cheese thighs and that yes, I can too get my arms to flap in the wind, it's of no use.

Screw relevance. She is the one-upper of victimdom. Does it get more annoying.

To give you some background: since October, Robin has begged for snow. Everything was I LOVE WINTER and I LOVE SNOW and IT'S JUST SO PRETTY. 

FF to yesterday. Robin is sitting on the couch, I ask about her day, and she says (quote):

I HATE WINTER.

*blink*

*blink blink*

I'm sorry. You what?

She went grocery shopping, found the cost of fruits and vegetables was through the roof. Out of season, hello.

Well now. What would you like me to do about that?

ALL I HAVE TO SAY IS: MEXICO, GET IT TOGETHER.

I, for one, genuinely hate Winter. I hate icy or otherwise salty sidewalks. My only consolation is watching the students walk or bike across campus, and fall on their butts. First substantial snowfall, the church nextdoor plowed our driveway and yard, but failed to take into account the gravel. We now have a beautiful mound of dirt and gravel, smack in the middle of our yard. It begs to be addressed. I'm inclined to strap on my backpack and summit that baby.


I knew there was a reason why I've never met the neighbors.

I digress. I decided to give Robin what she's asked for, so I went outside, collected said snow into my hands, marched into her room and threw it at her sleeping face.


I WANT SOMETHING I CAN SHOVEL, she said.


This too, I will be sure to remind her of.

Apparently I'm not as tech savvy as I thought.

So. In an ill-fated attempt to adjust my settings (and those of the family's Christmas blog), I locked everybody out. If it makes you feel any better, I've not posted in three weeks. If it makes me feel any better, it's been years since I was the only one capable of programming the VCR ('cause who even owns those anymore), therefore the fact that my technical skills have left me should be no reason to pout.

I'm over it.

Christmas came and went, leaving behind the residue of busyness and mayhem. The masses couldn't assemble together until the 28th, so we waited to celebrate. The days prior were filled with hot breakfast, movies and card games. We didn't have a white Christmas, unlike last year, though none of us were complaining. I, for one, did not miss the baha of a car ride every time one wanted to escape the house, not to mention the collective hours of snow-shoveling needed in order to get in and out of the driveway. I still remember thinking to myself HOW CAN ONE BE EXPECTED TO LIVE LIKE THIS?? then kindly konking myself on the head for being such a wimp. I digress. We had no such problems this year, save the nostril-freezing wind chill, of which we were more than willing to tolerate.

We had an epic family celebration, and our friends are beginning to think less of the word because apparently everything we do is epic. Said celebration culminated in a lights out, everybody-break-out-the-glow-sticks dance party once all the gifts had been opened. Mom and Dad arranged the traditional Scavenger Hunt to find our stockings, and I will go on the record as stating how impressed I was that Erica jumped right in and fought the good fight. This despite running into Molly who, instead of mowing her over or kindly moving around her, proceeded to pick her up, set her aside, and kept running. Being the family historian, I hung back and took pictures, the majority of which include headlocks, several bodies on the ground at any given time, or the more creative de-pantsing.

We'd each contributed something to the stockings this year, so it was entertaining to pick through and determine who had given what. I gave underwear to the six girls, but the ones I'd picked only came in a 5-pack so E received a lovely red & white fur-lined thong. (Merry Christmas to HER.) Luke contributed erasers in the shape of a cube puzzle, which we then proceeded to spend hours trying to solve. Kyle gave scratch tickets. Pretty sure I lost. And E gave tubes of glow sticks, which...well, you already know that story.

Holiday injuries include but are not limited to Kyle throwing poker chips at Kelsey (see Page 3 of the Family Diary, entitled "Poker: The New Paintball"), Molly's throwdown (which she claims was not the result of her ever-present antagonistic tendencies), and Alex chasing Kelsey around the yard for reasons we have yet to figure out.

Ekes of movies were had, the likes of which include: Avatar in 3D (gave me a headache, not to mention bred disgust over the fact that the first weekend's earnings could've solved world hunger in one fell swoop...suffice it to say, I am not proud of myself), The Blind Side, District 9 (good, albeit graphic), (500) Days of Summer (sooo glad I didn't see that one right after my beautiful breakup), and Julie & Julia (could a person's voice BE more irritating...).

The New Year was rung in quietly and with little ceremony. Jan term began & CYT picked up all in the same week, and my life is back to being one big organized mess.

On another note...

I feel very loved today.

Not in the fuzzy, cloud-nine kind of way. Though there is something to be said for said feeling.

Today I feel appreciated. Well-liked.

It's been a year and a half since I began teaching for CYT again. Since then, I've worked on back-to-back shows and taught a class every semester, sometimes two. It was never my intent, it just sorta happened. I always said I didn't have the energy for that. Yet it's corresponded with a time in my life where I've purged a bit of stress, easily the biggest contributing factor in my decision to limit my involvement with CYT. Last night as I drove home from my first day of class, I got to thinking about how it doesn't feel like work. I was so hyped, so excited to have just spent 4 hours with a CRAZY talented and funny group of students. It was cause to realize once again, the reward that comes from doing what I love, for an organization I love.

Somewhere in there, over the last year, it became a dire need of mine to spend time with those kids. Vital, if you will, to who I am.

Before I knew what I was doing, I committed to teaching three classes + choreographing the Winter show. All in a 10-week span. I am insane.

I can't help it. I get there and they are all full of hugs or smirks or whatever it is they use to show their affection. And to quote Sandra Bullock in one of the best films ever made: "I fell in love with you. Yes, you. Well...all of you."

This week I began teaching two classes. Advanced Dance for CYT-NI (my reputation preceded me and let's just say I'm more than a little intimidated at having 'all the good kids' in my class...), and Musical Theater: Chicago for CYT-Spokane. The latter I am also teaching an overflow for, as the original class filled up in three days.

It just feels good, to know they like me. It sounds elementary and silly to say it out loud, but I don't think anybody ever tires of feeling good about themselves. And while I don't condone the practice of only surrounding oneself with those kinds of people, a little positive reinforcement every now and then is good for the heart.

This weekend we have auditions for our Winter show, The Wizard of Oz. I have huge plans and dreams for this show, particular the Jitterbugs. This week I spent two hours in the dance studio with a friend, choreographing a combo Lindy/Jazz routine for callbacks. It kicked even my butt, which likely means we have our work cut out for us but at least it'll show us what the kids are made of.

It's these kinds of long days and nights that I never tire of.

It feels good to feel good. After the upheaval and change of 2009, positive as it was now that I'm on the other side of it, I am excited to be pulling ahead and pursuing the things I truly enjoy.

My one New Year's resolution is to keep it up. All of it.

Some people just ooze coolness.

Yesterday I had the privileged delight of shooting one very photogenic and wildly intellectual family, friends of mine for over a decade. They claim to be nothing special, though everyone knows you don't go up against a Lewis when death is on the line. They're world travelers, independants, and activists...a mix of sociable, passionate debate-lovers, and quiet thinkers who are content to keep their brilliance relatively covert...all are wicked smart despite what they may tell you...college professors, mathematicians, and artists, the lot of them. We sat in a coffee shop for almost four hours talking. Sharing. Arguing. But mostly laughing. And as I drove away, it took me a minute to realize how SIMILAR this family is to my own. The comfort of sitting around for hours in one another's presence is vastly underrated and rarely understood, but they get it. It's a hard dynamic to rival, given the loyalties I was born into. Until yesterday I'd quite honestly never met another family who enjoyed one another as much as my own. Except instead of playing cards and calling names, they read history textbooks and debate the most efficient way to evangelize Saudi Arabia.

The matriarch of said family, claims to be the non-confrontational wallflower. The one who can't/won't stand up for herself in an argument because she says she's not quick or smart enough. This is the same woman who, when she got bored, enrolled in a Statistics course. Just for kicks.

This family, their brains are far too big for their own good.

And yet they can sit in a coffee shop for an entire afternoon talking about people and events and politics, and when the one doing their crossword in the corner pipes up with A FALAFEL HOLDER?, stop what they're doing and think, before one shouts PITA!

Spending the afternoon with them, only furthered my firm belief that family, in all their unique and sometimes impossible glory, is a deal-breaker. I'm given the occasional eyeroll from those who don't understand how I could possibly want to spend as much time with my family as I do. (Uhh...because they're awesome?) One day I turned to my sister and said IS IT OUT OF THE ORDINARY THAT WE'RE TOGETHER AS MUCH AS WE ARE? and she wasted no time in saying OH YES, WE AREN'T NORMAL.

I'm allowed to lean on them, use them for defense, and hold bi-weekly drinking parties (regardless of any specific sorrows in need of a good solid drowning). Everyone jokes about the family dynamic when it comes to those who marry in, but underneath the banter is the uncontrollable truth which is: either you fit, or you don't. If the former, embrace it. If the latter, we can't help you.

While one such BF of mine could claim many virtues, likeability among outside parties was not high on the list. He dealt with a lot of problems, the biggest of which was named Molly. 

After long it becomes apparent that most think family was/is one of two things: 1) an unaffordable luxury, or 2) competition for one's affections. I've seen both ends of the broad spectrum: those who fit, and those who really don't. Everyone says when you marry a person, you marry their family. Mom has three criterion for any interested parties: 1) Do you love Jesus? 2) Do you love my kid? 3) Do you love my family?

Simple, right. You have no idea.

However, and this is the depressing portion of our program, it's also true that when you break up with a person, you break up with their family. One guy exercised a healthy dose of inconsiderate ignorance when he made his exit, landing himself on a few #%$& lists, then continued to act like everything was fine. I enlightened him to the fact that his reputation was in the toilet, said DUDE, YOU MESSED WITH THE SPOKANE KENNEDY'S and I'm pretty sure he didn't think that was funny. (In fact, I know he didn't think that was funny. He told me so.)

All that to say: when you disregard one, you disregard them all.

Why Big Families Are So Awesome, Reason #278: No-Questions-Asked Loyalty.

Partiality and bias aside, I'm thankful this family is on my side. They're the first to stand up, slap the dirt off, heave a collective LIVE AND LEARN and keep walking. And though you can know it for a long time, you're then reminded that while it may be hard to find one you like, and even harder to find one who not only likes you but also likes ALL the rest, it's harder still to first find, then obtain, one whom the collective unit approves of. 

I know three people who can claim the title. And they had no idea what they were getting themselves into. Apparently they've decided if you can't beat em, join em.

Day of Thanks + the Weekend the Stillars showed Portland our groove thang.

This Thanksgiving we geared up for Luke & Erica's wedding in beautiful Portland. E had the brilliantly brave idea to get the families together for the holiday, prior to the big weekend. We road-tripped in two cars, I got stuck with the boys. This is where I realized I'm quite the backseat driver. It started with telling Dad to change lanes or risk missing his exit, to which he said OH REALLY? MADE THIS MISTAKE BEFORE, HAVE YOU? (Well, maybe. Good times.) Dad doesn't take direction very well, especially if it's blow-by-blow, so navigating to our hotel was an experience to behold.

Turkey dinner at Erica's house, prepared by our awesome new brother-in-law(-in-law?) Matt...we ate, drank, and played games for hours. I'll admit to being a bit apprehensive that our size and sheer volume would be cause for overwhelm but nobody seemed fazed. Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.

Friday dawned sunny and bright... Mom and I jumped drove across the river for a morning with the girls... once again, I'd been appointed navigator so I began reciting the directions word-for-word and Mom finally said I JUST NEED TO KNOW THE BIG THINGS, LIKE "TURN HERE" AND STUFF so I waited a few seconds then said OK TURN HERE! except it was really like, a mile too early... she swerved.

As I was saying. We met up with the bride and her party for mani/pedis and some mimosas. (You will see this theme repeated many times throughout our week. Read on.) Later that afternoon we showed up to the University Chapel for rehearsal, to find the heat turned off... minor setback. Coocum found herself walked down the aisle by a very tall, cute boy and from that point on called him her boyfriend. (He thought that was funny until he realized she's an awfully slow mover and then it was our turn to laugh.) Dinner was served at 6:00p, to a crowd comprised of bridal party, family and out-of-towners... when I offered dessert, the aforementioned tall & cute boy said IS THERE TIRAMISU? and I asked if he'd brought any, to which he said no, and I was all THEN NO. Apparently after that he thought I was mean. (Doesn't bother me. I only turn on the feminine wiles when I really want something. Boys who ask for tiramisu would not fall into that category.)

Dad stood up for the obligatory thank-you, and totally threw Luke under the bus. It's a rare moment to find Luke genuinely embarrassed, but the rehearsal dinner is the best venue, is it not? They'd prepared a video showing how the proposal took place, etc. and I'm pretty sure at one point the family was called "a pack of cannibals". (Oh well. At least by then everyone had met us and knew somewhat different. We hope.)

The siblings convened after, for a late-night showing of New Moon. I've never read the books, heck I hadn't even seen the first movie until two days prior, and that was only because I didn't want to be that girl who keeps asking questions because she's just sooo lost. So we're sitting in the theater watching this movie, and at one point the girl hits her head and starts bleeding, so what does the guy do? Whips off his shirt. I decided the next time I get a paper cut I'm going to turn to the nearest guy and say WHY IS YOUR SHIRT STILL ON?

Wedding day dawned bright and relatively clear. Kyle wrestled with his bow tie while I sat down to write his best man speech. (He says he didn't know what to say. So I gave him cue cards and he ended up ad libbing his way through - I was very proud.) Molly, Isaac, Auntie Pretty and I met up for a pre-funk at Stanfords, and after two rounds of drinks we'd loosened up enough to get the real party started. Something you have to understand, is the stress involved with living out of a hotel for three days + having to move rooms twice + shuttling 11 people all over Portland at different times, with only three cars + BIG BROTHER IS GETTING MARRIED! WHAT! = we were all just a tad snippy.

The wedding was beautiful -- Luke had arranged three Beatles' songs for the cello, piano and viola -- just his style. Nobody warned the ringbearer that the rings weren't the real ones so he was plenty embarrassed to step up and hand them over only to have the pastor (who happens to be his dad) lean down and say THOSE ARE FOR LOOKS, SON. Yeah. He cried in the corner for like, 10 minutes after the ceremony. Molly and I sang a song for communion, and I was doing great until I looked at Erica then it all went to pot. To a degree, Erica several years back, went through something quite similar to what I've experienced these last few months. It encouraged me greatly to see her happy and quite obviously fulfilled, for having waited out the pain and healing alike.

And this is where it gets really good. The reception was held at the Jupiter Hotel in SE. I wish there were a way to describe the complete awesomeness which ensued, but there are no words. From the toasts to the amazing dance mix, it was quite possibly the best time we've had in a long while.

(l) Kyle giving his awesome toast. He made her raise her right hand and swear to the family name, and all that it implies. (r) Pretty sure this is where the maid of honor mentioned an ex-boyfriend.

I've long rolled my eyes at the tradition of throwing the bouquet. I understand the sentimentality, but give me a break. Let's line up all the single women and throw something at them. I usually play the wallflower or hide behind my camera, but somebody took it then shoved me out onto the floor and before I knew it, I'd reached up to get the damn thing. I don't know what compelled me. However - I like to think I upped the incentive for all the cute, single men -- which, by the way, HOW does my brother have so many unattached friends? Is it a Portland thing or are they deceptively charming? We'll go with that.

Also prior to now, I was the self-proclaimed wedding reception dance hater. They're always suuuuper lame. But really, you just need those who will go with you and pretty soon you have a party. We were on the dance floor for hours, gettin' down with our bad selves. My expert theory is that the masses of single people + those just plain crazy, combined with an open wine bar and all wrapped into one very anticipated event, turned our evening into a positively awesome one.

It was then that several people confessed that they thought Luke had asked his sisters to sing as the token get-the-family-involved action, and they were pleasantly surprised to find out we could actually sing. That said, I lost count of the number of guys who, at some point during the night, pulled me aside on the dance floor (more like pulled me close and yelled into my ear) and told me they thought I had the 'voice of an angel'.

At the end of a very long night, we'd said our goodbyes and realized we were famished, so the siblings hit Denny's. Because what's a successful weekend without a midnight trip to the 24-hr restaurant, can I get an amen...

A week in the life. (Maybe you had to be there.)

Let's work backwards.

Sunday/Saturday = a full day of rehearsal in CDA, our second inside the theater. I left early to make it back to Spokane for a worship rehearsal, one that began with frustration and the evening positively went to pot. I took five minute breather/sanity check and the boys played musical chairs, my lead guitarist stepped up to the mic and sang me a love song, prefaced with THIS ONE’S FOR YOU, BABY GIRL. Remarkable. I was so not in the mood.

Friday = I showed up to a huge Fall bouquet of flowers on my desk at work, and spent the entire morning trying to figure out who they were from. So I decided I must have a secret admirer, then found out they were from a Prof who was super appreciative of my help in coordinating a last-minute event. (Nice to get flowers for doing one’s job.) I then received a call from HR extending me the permanent position of Program Assistant in the English Department, post the interview I had earlier in the week. Cue the mad celebration. Then - an evening of freedom! I cleaned for the first time since moving in. Still can’t find two pair of shoes and multiple sets of earrings, but whatever. I’m over it. Then my old bosses from KH (I call them my Not-So-Wicked Step-parents) called with a seat to Gonzaga vs. Indiana Purdue Fort Wayne starting in 20 minutes. Observation: they look so much smaller on TV.

Thursday = showcase for Advanced Dance. I suffered a hard landing and bruised my foot, which promptly turned purple. Awesome. But then I found out that two days into registration for next quarter’s classes, my Musical Theater: Chicago class had filled up and they want me to teach an overflow. That put me in a better mood.

Tuesday = I took Coocum to the touring production of The Lion King. Picked her up from assisted living, only to have her accuse the male nurse of having a crush on me when he came in to administer her night meds. (He said “No ma’am” and I was all WHAT? I DON’T LIKE YOU EITHER.) She was all dolled up and ready for a night out, complete with a patriotic scarf. That’s right, my grandmother went dressed as the American flag. I dropped her off in front of the theater then parked the car, by the time I’d made it inside she was halfway through a glass of wine. Not that The Lion King is hard to sit through, but a glass of wine is appropriate just about any time, let’s be honest.

Monday = showcase for Musical Theater: Les Miserables. We perform One Day More and Master of the House, complete with clanking bar mugs which I took care to explain was MILK, WE’RE DRINKING MILK. THEY’RE NOT DRUNK, THEY’RE JUST HIGH ON LIFE.

No wonder they want me back.