Cue that catchy song they play at sporting events…

Or not. Because as often as not that song is annoying, and they most certainly play it too loud. I hate that.


I sent you a present.

I sent it six-day ground. This was not because I am cheap. It was because I knew I was going to procrastinate this post, as that is a thing I do (I don’t mean to brag, but I’m actually quite good at the whole ‘procrastination’ thing), and I couldn’t have you get it before I posted, because I was so intent on perfectly packaging the item that I most definitely forgot to include a card. Oops. So, in lieu of a card, please enjoy the following:

“Your Royal Highness,

When you open this box (kindly take a moment first to enjoy the camouflage tape in which the box is bedecked. Then and only then, please proceed to open said bedecked box), you are certain to suspect that I have sent you nothing more than a year’s supply of plastic shopping bags. Before you send a ‘thank you??’ text, I will inform you that there are, in fact, other items in the box. It’s just that this was the only box I had, and I’ll be damned if a little thing like being altogether the wrong size is going to stop me from using a readily accessible box. So congratulate yourself on receipt of a veritable cornucopia of random shopping bags, and then dig in for the actual gift, wrapped in bubble wrap. (Bubble wrap being the delight that it is, this may possibly be more exciting than the actual gift, so you’ll want to hold on to that) Set the collection of items on a table in front of you. Look at them, wonder what they are. Move them around. Wonder what they are. Place the two non-flat objects atop the flat. Wonder what they are. Switch them around. ‘Oh! That’s what they are!’ At this point you will suspect the whole thing is not worth the trouble, but just keep that bit to yourself. The point of the gift is that now you can have dinner with me any time you want. ūüôā


Audrey the Whale”


There. Now you have a card that is decidedly less fun than actually getting a card, but when your best friend is an airhead, you learn to make concessions.


On my way to post your too-big-box parcel, Thriller came on the radio, so I listened to it –¬†because I can. I was lamenting to myself the fact that I don’t know that little dance (It looked like so much fun in Thirteen Going On Thirty!), and I wish I did – though the Lord himself only knows why, since the only place I might ever need it is in my car while driving and that seems highly impractical – when it occurred to me that there is a thing that should exist that does not (to my knowledge), and that thing is an ex-Jdub conference of some sort where we can collect ourselves together and have various opportunities to learn or do things that we did not have earlier opportunity to learn or do. Various elements of planning for holidays, birthdays, etc, and whatever else a person might want to look into. I think that should be a thing.


Thank you for your post. You are generous and creative to paint my abject disinclination toward normalcy with such optimistic strokes. (Disinclination toward? That seems not to make sense. Disinclination¬†from?¬†Whatever. Who cares? I’m a rebel.) Sometimes I have wanted to fit in. The trouble is, I have no knack for it. And, realistically, as efforts in futility go, that one doesn’t strike my fancy quite as squarely as it might, so it tends to be given up with a speed bordering on the instantaneous.


I am questioning my entire self this week. Answers are not forthcoming. Un-forthcoming answers are probably my least favorite thing in life.

me – Answers, come forth!

life – *chirping crickets*

me – Goddammit.

life – *chuckles quietly*




Life has seen fit to shine a light on me, and I can’t tell what I’m supposed to be looking at.

I’m living life with a person whose priorities and values are all diametrically opposed to my own. His life philosophy is ‘A Comfortable Life Above All Else.’ Mine is more like, ‘Chaos Is My Comfort Zone.’

I tried pushing for adventure for a while. That was not well-received. So I’ve given in and am doing my best to content myself with this ‘Comfortable Life’ business.

I’m bored as fuck.

And I feel like a total dick. Like, sure, everybody wants a comfortable life, but once you have one? Unless everyone you love gets one at the same time, you’re basically an asshole. Not awesome. *emphatic dislike* ¬†I’m sure that I’m allowed to curl up on my comfy couch with my pouty face on and ’emphatically dislike’ just as intensely as I please, right up until it’s time for my next pedicure, but that ain’t gonna do a thing to change this shit.


I¬†really like to know things. I’m like Tyrion Lannister only taller and way less rich. And a girl. And I don’t like to be drunk. And I’m not a gifted strategist. Nor do I have the slightest influence over people in power. Also, I did not kill my father or the ex who betrayed me. And my brother’s toes are amputated instead of his hand. And I have retained my entire nose. And… Actually, I’m not like Tyrion Lannister at all. Never mind.

The point is, there is no point. I’m so far off of knowing the answers, I’m not even sure I know the questions. But let’s have a few, just for fun.


Is being “in love” a reasonable priority? Is it even a realistic¬†possibility? Do we need to spend life with a person with whom we are “in love” and build around that, or do we just make our life wherever we find it and do our best to find moments of being “in love” where we can?

Where exactly does “love” intersect with “in love”? I mean, is it even possible to be “in love” for an extended period of time, or is that feeling of being “in love” really just the infatuation phase, meant to melt away after a minute?

Is accepting security for a passionate existence a worthwhile swap?

Does God really want responsible religiousness from us above all things? I can’t believe He does. What does He want instead of that? How do I find out? (Fezzik turns your head away from me. ‘Don’t pester her. She’s been mostly dead all day.’ … ‘Oh, right. Sorry.’ Music changes, we sneak off scene.)

Where does responsibly meeting one’s obligations become selling out?

When do I actually get to feel like a grown up?

Why do things never, ever give me a headache and then all of sudden one day they start giving me headaches? Why were headaches even invented in the first place???


Jon Snow knows more than me. Pathetic.


At least my tv/movie quote/reference game is solid.


And here’s another completely unrelated query. Today on the Facebook, I saw an Anne of Green Gables meme (Ten points to Gryffindor for your Anne reference, btw) quoting the bit where she asks, ‘Would you rather be divinely beautiful or dazzlingly clever or angelically good?’ and I thought, divinely beautiful, obviously, because I can’t even imagine being bad or stupid. And then I thought, what is that about? How is it that I can fully believe in my own inherent intelligence and goodness but never quite seem to connect with beauty? Shrug. I dunno. I mean, if I had to go two out of three, I’d pick the clever and the good anyhow, so at least there’s that going for me.



This week’s “This Is Not Okay” Moment, brought to you by Baby Mama Drama.

Kid: “Hey, Audrey, is it okay if I write ‘F-ing whore’ in my journal since I’m not really saying it, it’s just quoting what my mom said about you?”


It’s weird that I invest so much energy trying¬†to find ways to become a better person while there are people like her out there perfectly content to just go right on being¬†rotten.


I love you the best. Thanks for knowing who I am, even when I don’t.

All the loves-



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