The Las Vegas Diaries - Day 1

Saturday, August 31, 2013

Dear LVD,

I decided against wearing my bikini under my clothes on the flight. Something told me I am fairly conspicuous as it is. And with my luck, one of my strings would have become haphazardly entangled in my neighbor's headphones as he/she futily attempted a quiet, uneventful flight. And we were all already headed to Vegas; I didn't need to bring Vegas to the passengers. 

Because I generally don't care who I sit next to as long as they aren't:
A) Sick,
B) Spilling over into my seat,
C) A screaming child,
D) The woman with Angry Cat as her carry-on,
I excused myself past two guys and sat down next to the window.

I laughed myself ugly at the book I brought and then I was there.

Holy crap. Somewhere, in the small continent that is McCarran Int'l Airport, all the way from Connecticut, BreAnn was waiting for me.

I practically sprinted to baggage claim to see her face (and to make sure all my shoes made it because...SHOES.)

And then, for just one second, I was pretty sure world hunger had ended because this happened:

We had impatiently waited a month for this moment. Sometimes a girl's gotta make a choice: feelings or dignity? The feeling of excitement won. Wasn't even a question, really. Much squealing and girl-love ensued.

Our obscenely heavy suitcases in tow, we made our way to the curb to grab a taxi and begin making new (and sometimes blurry) memories. 

First memory together: surviving the cab ride to our hotel. The sweet black woman with the blonde braids either didn't register stop signs as requirements or just happened to look in the rearview mirror at us every. single. time. we came up to one. The only upside to her reckless driving was that she got us there before I "cirque du soleil'd" all over her cab. But only barely.

The sweet, beachy air of the Mandalay Bay lobby was miraculous in and of itself. We truly felt one thousand miles away from the desert of LV.

The sweet, excessively man-scaped gentleman at the front desk was most helpful and we enjoyed the elevator ride to our room more than we should have. We just kept saying, "I can't believe this is really happening. It's so surreal!" and then something shiny would distract us and we'd start all over again.
Room 28333 became our liquor-stocked home away from home. And...you guys...THE BATHROOM. I didn't manage to get a picture of that. Mostly because so much magic happened in there before the two of us descended upon the town that there was NO TIME. Legs to be shaved, hair to be did, appearances to be rocked, ya dig?

Bre & I were incredibly compatible roommates. (Duh.) I felt this was worth mentioning because we've never, liked, LIVED together. Which is really just a gross oversight on the universe's part. 
We took in our view and managed to find a place for all our tiny shorts & swimsuits and hit the strip.

We took our time but were excited to get back to our room. It. was. hot. Like, crazy hot. So we showered and changed and decided to bring a li'l Southern Idaho to Coyote Ugly...

BreAnn and I suffer from an inability to sit still when there is music on. We also share a passion for dancing (years of dance team together). Both of those traits came together in a glorious combination of sweat, music, and green-and-blue stripes.
We got to CU a little early, by Vegas standards, so we meandered around the New York New York, got some pizza, checked out the amazing saxophone player at the dueling piano bar, and decided we both really just wanted to go back to CU and dance.
So we did. And it was absolutely amazing. We tried to leave about 4-5 times, but then another "that's our song!" song would come on and, well, we were practically powerless. What we didn't expect was the herd of British boys in the matching blazers who, inspired by alcohol, thought we were just the neatest thing. But lemme tell ya, trying to understand the usually-charming British accent over the music and muddled by alcohol is useless & a waste of time. Laughing & nodding is the universal language, and at that late in the evening, "Oy! Oy!" filled in the gaps.

We said our goodbyes and began our stroll back to Mandalay Bay. LV is still so warm, and surprisingly pretty, at 4:30 a.m.

Then we got 3 hours of sleep and began Day 2...

Las Vegas Diaries - Preface

Monday, July 29, 2013

Dear LVD,

BreAnn mentioned us taking a girls trip to Vegas.

She's pretty much half-packed from the sounds of it.

Holy smokes...is she serious?

Wait a minute.

This is me & Bre in Vegas together. That's no joke. There is no punch line.

JUST AWESOME.

And in a matter of approximately 4 minutes, we knew it was going to happen.

And frankly, Diary, I'm a little embarrassed it took us that long.

*******
During the week that followed, shameful amounts of hours were spent on thousands of sites, which we whittled down to about 4 at an alarmingly efficient rate. Details were lusted over, destinations discovered & fist-pumped about, and BreAnn booked our room at Mandalay Bay, which I'm pretty sure is Spanish for "violently celestial" or maybe something about a unicorn...
And then we giggled like 11-year-olds about the "toptional" pool at our hotel...because we knew it wasn't a matter of if...it was a matter of when.

24 hours before take-off!

That One Time I Ran Away From Home When I Was 29

It's not nearly as cool as it sounds.

I prepared for it.

I told others where I was going.

I took my son with me.

Whatever. Let me have my rebellion...even if it was more of a I-can't-handle-this-right-now-so-I-should-leave-and-leave-I-shall.

Eric was my excuse and Boise, my destination. I begged politely asked my sister if we could come stay with her & her husband. I may or may not have used the The Bedrock of My Life is Eroding Beneath Me card in order to increase my odds.

And off we went.

We didn't really have a plan. I just wanted to go. To give my hands something to do.

I wish I could find words that were happy enough, emphatic enough, to express how good it was to see LoriAnn. She and I are only 15 months apart - worst enemies during our earlier years; closest best friend I've ever had since...well, since we stopped fighting. You know that eerie connection twins have? Yeah, well, we don't have that. But I assume we have something pretty close to that. And what we lack in "eeriness" we make up for in being dumb (documented proof included farther down in this post.)

Eric and I decided to hit the zoo. I would take him every year when he was little & I stayed home with him. Like me, he is an animal lover. This only became an issue when we'd hit the gift shop and suddenly his stroller was full of stuffed animals. It had been a couple years since we had been and, alright alright...I was probably more excited than he. I mean, 7 is way too mature for the zoo, right?

Right. EXCEPT WHEN THERE ARE DINOSAURS. (Thank you, Lord.)

 

They were so stinkin' cool! They moved and made, what I am assuming are, scientifically accurate sounds because they sounded just like Jurassic Park which is pretty much a documentary.

Eric and I were looking at some of the monkeys and angry-looking birds of prey when all of a sudden I got quiet and asked him what that sound was. (Please don't ask me what it was specifically. It was a dinosaur noise of some sort. They even had the name of the dinosaur on an easy-to-read, sound-it-out sign. Do I remember what it was? No. But it was AWESOME.) He furrowed his brow and looked at me like I was crazy until the sound carried through the cages again. His entire face transformed.

Sorry, Mr. Bald Eagle, the symbol of American liberty & justice for all, Eric can see you on a dollar bill anytime. There are dinos afoot!

 

We had the best time journeying through the zoo, excited to discover the next dinosaur amongst the other wonderful exhibits. It was such a hot day that many of the animals were sprawled in the shade, which often happened to be right near the viewing windows. The jellyfish seemed unphased.

(The dark creature Eric is looking at below is the Sloth Bear.)

We made our way back around to the entrance where Eric tricked me into buying an ICEE in a souvenir cup. Ok, ok, he didn't actually trick me, but he's cute and that counts as a form of trickery.

We were pretty sweaty ourselves so we decided to head back to our air-conditioned digs so Eric could play some video game apps on Auntie Lori's Kindle and I could spend time with my sister. We could not have been happier.

The next day, I decided to surprise Eric with a trip to the Idaho Aquarium. As it is fairly new, I had never been either and was excited to see what was in store. We were not disappointed!

We make rather stunning mer-people, if I do say so myself. He didn't think it was near as endearing as I did that I was Ariel and he was my Prince Eric. Sigh. Can a sentimental bone be attached via prosthetic?

I was absolutely astonished at how hands-on everything was. So many of the displays and animal exhibits were open to allow you access and towels were hanging strategically nearby to dry your hands. The only guidelines the signs really asked us to follow were, "Please do not remove the ______ from the water. Or squeeze them." Fair enough.

One of my favorite parts was the shark & manta ray pool. The sharks stayed pretty near the bottom, out of arm's reach, but the rays were swimming so close to the surface that we were often splashed by them. We were able to just put our hands out and feel their rubbery, slippery skin glide beneath our fingers. Such curious, fascinating creatures. One gal had a little piece of food she was dangling next to the rock wall. One of the rays was trying so hard to get it, you could hear it making loud sucking sounds as it poked out of the water.

There was also a large tank/aquarium that was for viewing-only. It housed a lot of different fish, sharks, eels, and crustaceans. Some of the biggest lobsters, crabs, and starfish ever! It was really amazing to be able to stand next to the large "windows" and be able to take a look into a section of the ocean, so to speak.

They also had a variety of other exhibits and smaller aquariums. There was a reptile section with chameleons, poisonous frogs, and snakes. Oddly enough, these were not hands-on. However, Fred, the gigantic iguana, was left out & unsupervised on the top of an old-boat-turned-anemone-exhibit. Eric loved him.

There was also a shark "nursery" where baby sharks and shark eggs were kept while the mothers were out shopping or getting their hair done or just sitting alone in the quiet drinking wine from a coffee mug. (This is speculation.)

And not to spoil the movie for anyone, but...I found Nemo. He wasn't even really that hard to find. And yes, in the above photo of me and the shark, that is my son's hand, photo-bombing my exclusive "close-call". I get no respect.

We continued on to Ann Morrison Park with Eric's Razor scooter. It was such a nice day, lots of disc golf was being played, and the playground & fountain were the perfect pit-stops as Mom (me) was making us walk...a lot. Ok, so I may have not known exactly where I parked. But it was a shady spot and the after-church crowd got cray-zay so it was totally worth doubling back. Right, Eric? Eric?? (Also, to the dolt of a fisherman that left a tangle of fishing line with 3 rusty hooks dangling from it in the middle of a park: It's fine! No need to worry! My son's sandaled foot found it! WHEW.)

Now, for the last installment in the longest post ever, please prepare yourselves for a visual how-to on class, grace, dignity, and the "ugly laugh":

(Photos & trip taken July 20-21, 2013.)

The End

How? How can something that appeared to be so great and perfect end so suddenly? So suddenly that even the people around me had the wind knocked out of them?

There is no simple answer. There never is.

I could go into a monologue, detailing specific instances that might shed some light on such an abrupt end. But is it really important to anyone but me? And if not, is it important enough to me to relive here?


To spare us both, I will try to turn the muddled intricacies into a more clean-cut summary:

Sean could not swallow the idea of marriage and what he thought that meant.

This was for better and for worse. I know this. All the "better than after the altar" sentiments are well-intentioned but seem ironic because that was the issue in the first place. But yes, to have successfully dragged him down the aisle only to find out he was consumed with dread the whole way would've been...just...can you even imagine the heartache...if it's anything like what I'm trying to survive now...sweet Jesus, no.

What I'm going to say next is not meant as an insult or offense in any way; Sean has admitted this openly, so it is safe for me to repeat here: Sean has a...unique...view of relationships. And we both had to find out exactly how unique...the hard way.

The hard way being two years full of memories and pictures (oh my goodness, so many pictures) and emails and texts before the truth was blurted out when I demanded an answer.

I know something about me...I know that I can struggle with patience. Especially when I don't understand something. I want more information so I can understand so I can take the next step so I can feel productive. And I know that as time wore on, I was impatient with him. I couldn't understand his outlook or why it was so bleak. And he told me that he didn't understand where his outlook came from or what influenced it, that it was just there and that he knew it was messed up. And that "something" that he couldn't explain made me feel like I wasn't worth it.

I know he tried to push himself past it sometimes. But when you believe a certain way for so long...it's hard to let it go. It is uncomfortable and it is risky. And, from personal experience, that is scary. Even when evidence might be staring you in the face. Evidence does not equal comfortable. Knowledge and feelings...well, those are two very different things. And Logic cannot simply flip the Feelings switch.

And this was so, so hard for me. To be doing and showing and "proving"...and to know that his head and his heart were watching, but not convinced. Doing, showing, and proving turned into explaining, persuading, and convincing. "See? I'm still here! We may not agree on _________, but I still love you. See? If you could maybe try talking to me about _________, you'll see it's not so bad. See? There's so much good here. See...?"

And sometimes he caught a glimpse of it. And it was interesting to watch the mixture of relief and surprise pass over his face. And he would tell me he loved me and things would align again. And sometimes...most times I felt like I didn't know what else to do to remove the doubt. And then I would, in my exasperation, ask him what more he wanted. And he didn't have an answer for me because who ever has an answer to that question?

Not seeing eye-to-eye on something made Sean very uncomfortable. To the point of shutting down, retreating. And it was nearly impossible to talk about anything relationship-oriented: "serious" issues, seeing eye-to-eye, or even the lovey stuff. Because communication was an admitted devastatingly weak point for him. And, unfortunately, I didn't know how to handle that without talking about it. It was exaggerated by the tragic fact that my love language is Words of Affirmation. This difference reared its head often...and left Sean distressed and me very hurt.

And that discomfort finally outweighed our past victories and all of our potential. And, given his specific personality, retreating from it was the only thing I think he knew to do...

I asked him to stop telling me he loved me and to tell me what he wanted.

"We're not good right now....I don't think it's going to work..."

And on Wednesday, July 17, 2013, on my lunch hour, everything stopped...but me.

Beavers on a Monday

Sean and I have an uncanny knack of seeing unusual/creepy things on our adventures.

Typically, it's the people.

But more recently, it's been creatures. He calls me the Snake Charmer because 5 of the last 6 outings we've gone on, I've found snakes. And almost always after I sarcastically say, "Wait! Our day is not complete until I find the snake!" This declaration also happens to work on lizards. I found this to be true after hiking onto a boulder and announcing exasperatedly, "Come on! There's GOT to be a lizard here."

Bam. There he was. Three feet down the side of the rock. His blue belly in all its glory.

So far, this has yet to work on money...or celebrities...or ACME anvils.

Monday came this week with its share of exaggerated sighs and usual drudgery. Until one little 4-letter word changed all of that.

B-o-a-t. And I was going to be on it and the weather was going to be hot and the Falls were going to be low enough that we could hike around and birds would be singing and there'd probably be a rainbow and maybe my smile at a stranger would inspire a random act of kindness and...world peace.

My day was pretty much made. (It's worth noting that there was no rainbow. But there was also no flood...)

    

We hiked all over the dry rocks and cooled our feet in the streams that managed to find a way over, under, and through. We saw crawfish/crawdads/mini-lobster-looking-things, both dead and alive. The guy, who I was certain was reeling in an old boot, actually caught a chubby little fish. Paddle-boarders and kayaks were abundant. And the Scenic Tours helicopter made an alarming amount of passes over us. I'm sure our re-enactment of the Hunger Games had nothing to do with it. (Not to worry, the man I accidentally shot with an arrow is quickly getting used to his prosthetic...and can't identify me in a lineup.)

When we had seen about as much of the Falls as we could, we took the boat back out into the water and ate dinner. And for reasons still unknown to me, the emotional burdens I had been carrying became very heavy then. And when that happens, my normally chatty, sarcastic, laughing personality closes up shop and my mind just continues on in a low, constant hum.

And if you are a man, you know how brave you must be to approach an idling woman. (Sean was sitting on a towel, which I now believe to be his cape.) But he did, and he asked me if I wanted to talk about it.

Why is it that whenever someone says THOSE words or expresses concern or gives you a hug, that the floodgates open? I did, in fact, want to talk about it. My quivering chin was making that a little more difficult. A few tears were shed as I told him about the 3 weights I had on my heart's shoulders. My heart was broken over how little Eric's dad actually cares for him. My mind was heavy with having to spend 5 out of 7 days each week around a person who does. not. like. me. And having to be the bigger person all the time just ends up making me feel like a big sucker. And my childlike spirit was disappointed about Sean's work schedule interrupting my gleeful 30th birthday plans because GIRLFRIENDS' BIRTHDAYS ARE SACRED.

Or something like that. Whatever. I'm turning 30. I plan on keeping my age a mystery by using far more juvenile behavior.

And all this came out. In the boat. In the middle of the river. So I moved my soggy self to the back of the boat. Sean wrapped his arms around me and just sat quietly. And I watched those burdens wash downstream.

 And then, beavers! With a sharp smack of a tail, it drew our attention up several yards. Two of them were streamlining, without a single ripple, through the river. I have never seen beavers before. One was headed upstream and the other downstream, towards their little beaver house. Which I envision looks just like the one on The Lion, the Witch, & the Wardrobe.

Because what else would it look like?

We sat and watched them for a couple minutes when I decided that the situation called for wine. Celebrate the little things, right? Or toast the beavers. Or offer "Salud!" to the creepily hovering helicopter.

Whatever floats your boat.

Growing Up, Showering, and Something to Do With Cake

I don't think I give the grade-school-me enough credit.

Conversely, I think I maaaaay give the adult-me too much credit.

I think.

But these later generations have me shaking my head and wondering, "Has our world truly spiraled downward this quickly or was I just the oblivious blondie every joke eludes to?"

I am the oldest of 5 kids. I am 29, the youngest 13. And, people, WE. ARE. TWO. DIFFERENT. GENERATIONS.

My sister, LoriAnn, and I were born 15 months apart. The younger 3 siblings were born 9+ years later. They have no idea of the world Lori & I grew up in. School was different, music was different (well, not so different now, thanks to One Direction bridging the so-pretty-it-hurts boy band gap), and our parents were different.

I can honestly say that makeup, leg-shaving, and having any idea on how to behave in a dating relationship was completely lost on me. So lost, in fact, that they weren't even fully-formed thoughts. I was unfamiliar enough with them that even if my brain ventured that direction, it soon gave up because there was no visible mental path to continue exploring.

And now there's my littlest sister. And we won't address that here.

There are also 2 other generations in my family circus circle: my parents and my own son. It is so unique watching everyone mesh together. Some days, it's like gears in a clock. And some days, it's a like a toddler's first birthday cake - all the pieces are there, but it's a sweet disaster.

I've noticed several similarities between my younger self and Eric's behavior. But because of the different environments we grew/are growing up in, I can also see differences.

I was/am the oldest child, and must endure (said with loooove) the younger beings that followed me. Eric is my oldest/only, but he must endure every single body born before him in the form of my younger siblings. They most often serve dual-purpose for each other; along with being each others' aunt/uncle/nephew, they are also like the extra siblings none of them ever wanted.

Because of this "built-in" socialized exposure, Eric has picked up on quips and retorts and phrases at his young age that would've never graced my lips until years later. Often, this makes for incredulous, hysterical laughter. And sometimes, there is much forehead smacking and/or looks of controlled panic (and let's just be honest here: lots of "Michael!" and his influential, 18-year-old self. Boys.)

A couple days ago, I was sitting outside, wrapped in a blanket, half watching my boyfriend, Sean, and my brother, Michael, attempt badminton, and half trying to read a book. And then I was doing neither because Eric sat down next to me & informed me that he needed to ask me a question.

"Mom, can I bring my blue Nintendo DS on the bus on our field trip?" (His DS is a handheld video-gaming device that Mommy paid lots of money for. The field trip was to Boise...2 hours away.)

"No, sweetie. You know what I always say. I don't want anything to happen to it. You can take the red one, though." (The red one is an older, smaller model...that the ex paid for. Heh.)

It was at this point that I expected the usual protests & arguments because his blue one is newer/cooler/can do things that the red one can't/etc. He did present an argument, but one I wasn't expecting:

"But Mom, you let me take the blue one when I was in kindergarten. I'm a lot more responsible now."

My mouth literally opened and closed, partly because I couldn't possibly believe I actually did allow that, and partly because he was using solid logic and reasoning. And I'm much more comfortable being the I'm-right-because-I'm-the-Mom-and-that's-pretty-much-the-only-card-I-have-to-play-but-darn-it-if-it-ain't-a-good-one parent.

I just ended up laughing...and saying no again.

And then yesterday, I had another glimpse into how this little boy of mine is growing up into...well...a boy, sans the "little".

I gave Eric a haircut and stuck him in the shower. To ensure all the tickly little hairs wouldn't prove torturous later, I stood at the opening of the shower, offering "assistance" verbally (one of my specialties). "Put your head back. No, more in the water. Rub your head with your hands to help them wash off. There's some on your ear. Careful, you'll get water in your nose." You get the idea.

"Mom, you're not going to stand there the whole time, are you?"

*crickets chirping*

"What? Psh. NO. Don't be ridiculous. I'm just going to go stand over...here.....now."

Independence is so not cool.

Knot Happening

This just happened on my FB newsfeed:

Cynthia Chung is obviously a gifted photographer. The picture is beautiful and I don't think it would be nearly as wonderful if that charming Fifth Ave sign wasn't framing the couple from the top (go ahead, cover it with your finger & see). The couple is comfortable being in love...on the sidewalk...of a major city street...in wedding attire.

And this is all great. Except I can't get over the sentence above it.

I'm missing a gene. A girly gene. A taffeta and tulle and lace and beading-encrusted gene. I have no idea what my dream gown is - and this is after already having had a wedding. Many brides go to such lengths to create their perfect day - colors, flowers, wedding monograms, styles, decorations; there's even a term for it: branding.

{Me being the dairy-girl that I am, am having a hard time envisioning "branding" as anything but bellowing calves, a hot iron, and the smell of burnt hair...none of which is featured on The Knot.}

I have never had much of anything "get me through the day", with the exception of the following:

The promise of Date Night (with either or both of my men)

Girls Night

Vacation

The Lord Almighty

But a photo? Of people I don't know? Please tell me I'm not a wedding-robot for struggling with this. And is this photo even chic enough to be featured on a prominent wedding site? Because all of Pinterest (and just about every other wedding blog known to womankind) is telling me that rustic/vintage/shabby chic is the only way to go. All things Mason jar, barn wood, and old suitcases. 

 

I'm pretty sure yellow taxis don't qualify.

But I'm also starting to think that I don't qualify. I mean, I don't even know what I'd want if I got married again*. More specifically, I know what I don't want, but only usually when I see it. I want fun and bright colors and people to have a good time. Simple enough, right? 

Wrong.

Try searching for those keywords in the wedding industry and you know what you get?

Carnival/circus theme!

Fair theme!

Cinema theme!

"Offbeat"

Inspiration from several countries I've never been to nor am a descendant of!

Etsy-made pinwheels & crepe paper backdrops!

Quinceanera, anyone?!

So much web-thusiasm (yes, I just made that up) for so many things that aren't "me"! And I can't be the only one like me, can I? There's got to be at least one other gal who is sitting somewhere, wondering why the industry is practically telling her that her guests will be in a beautiful meadow seated on old church pews and each of her bridesmaids will be in cowboy boots. She's out there, right? {Please know that if you were/are a bride that is all over this current trend, I am envious of you & I know your day will be beautiful & swooned over. You will have no trouble finding decor & accessories & ideas. And I envy you for that.}

*I need to be completely honest here and say that I DO (heh, see what I did there?) know what I'd want if I ever get married again: courthouse or elopement. I would still love to plan a big, fun reception & celebrate the day away with friends & family, but the wedding...the wedding can be our own thing, without all the hoopla, obligations, or expectations.

Or re-purposed dressers.

Rules for Life (Or, Why I Wasn't Voted Prom Queen)

1. Don't look for actual inspiration on Pinterest. Unless of course you are looking for ways on how to suffocate the dreams of the wedding you may very well never have, bury your self-loathing in homemade ice cream, or simply escape the harmonious screaming of the small humans entrusted to your care.
2. Don't neglect how yoga pants and wine are directly linked to mental health. If the voices are just a little louder than usual today, you're deficient in one/both of the above.
3. Don't excitedly climb aboard the Coconut Water bus thinking it will taste like an Almond Joy with a straw stuck in it. It doesn't. (A cocktail umbrella only numbs the disappointment for a short while.)
   

   

   Yes, but where's the rum?

   
   
4. If you leave something open, make sure you close it. This includes your mouth.
5. Don't write "like like like!" on someone's FB status and then not actually click "Like".
6. Do compliment someone when they do/say/wear something pleasing to you. It will knock their socks off. And it's free! And maybe they'll tell you how amazing you are, too!
7. When making life-altering decisions like: To Brazilian or Not to Brazilian? or either of the following: Purchasing a I Heart Mustaches shirt or Growing An Actual Mustache, keep in mind that you are A. opening yourself up for possible ridicule, and B. obligated to talk and/or blog about it ('cause you know it's gonna happen after too much wine anyway.)
8. Don't laugh at the person rocking out on the treadmill. They're having more fun than you.
9. Rock out on the treadmill.
10. You are never too old to be polite. Unless you're in diapers. Then your debt to society has probably been paid.
11. Don't interrupt. It makes me all stabby.
12. Each person's opinion is valuable. Often wrong, but valuable.
13. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength because there may come a time when He's the only thing preventing you from devouring your own child.
14. It doesn't matter if the glass is half empty or half full. It does matter if I can see the bottom of that glass.
15. Don't label yourself as a "feminist". It seems redundant. And silly.
16. Do wear a bra. A cute one.
17. If you reserve the right to curse loudly and/or smoke around me or my child, I reserve the right to withhold respect and assume you (and your teeth) didn't quite finish 8th grade.
18. Don't whistle at girls as you walk by. One day you will meet one that will make you regret it.
19. Try, try, try not to assume. But if you do, make it outlandish.
20. Learn Spanish...just in case.

Valued | Ksenia

New Hampshire: my Russian empire.

That tiny East-coast state typically boasts of incredible foliage, amazing skiing, glass-like lakes, and delicious slices of our country's history. And their rally-cry State motto is "Live Free or Die".

'Merica.

And make no mistake, I met some incredible Americans during my time in that state. Some from Wyoming of all places, some with accents that made mundane sentences deliriously hilarious, some from wildly wealthy families, some with sweetly ignorant ideas of what Idaho was all about (think spurs, billowing tumbleweeds, and swinging saloon doors).

And I'm thankful for having met each one of them...well, except for that one mean girl who played lacrosse...and her cousin with the scary eyebrows...but otherwise, each of them.

But the ones who left the deepest impression, who stamped my life with their friendship as easily as they got their passports stamped after crossing the Atlantic, were the Russians. There were Czechs (with teeny little speedos), a girl from Poland who, I convinced myself, was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and a couple others from here & there.

But the Russians...underneath the stereotype of the huge fur hats & famous vodka (that part of the stereotype was based on fact...), are some of the most incredible, generous, compassionate people to ever grace my memory.

I met Ksusha (said like Xoosha). But no one called her that. It was "shortened" to Ksenia or Ksu. And she was a blue-eyed sweetheart with long, wild blonde hair. I began to pick up on the fact that the Russian girls seemed to think I was funny. Naturally, my little ego was smitten & advocated for quality time with them. For some reason, they allowed it, and I was given the precious gift of being able to learn about them.

Ksu did not put time into her physical appearance like I did. She showered and went on her way, no hair dryer, makeup, primping or fuss. Few of them did. And yet, they were radiantly beautiful because their souls shined directly out of their eyes & smiles. I don't think I will ever forget Ksu's smile. It is one of the warmest, most welcoming things ever directed at me. Pure happiness & acceptance.

Has anyone ever allowed you to feel that way? It's blissful & convicting all at once.

Their grasp of the English language was astounding & we had almost no trouble communicating. In high school, I discovered that I had a knack for deducing what a "foreigner" was trying to say when the correct words escaped him/her. And over the years, various individuals from other countries have told me the same thing. Exchange students would seek me out in the midst of conversations with others because of the luck I'd had earlier. It was like a word puzzle; I loved it. This trait was also responsible for roping me into making international travel arrangements for about 17 individuals. No sweat...ha. So, "the Russians" (said with love) and I were equally impressed with each other.

Ksu is still one of the least-pretentious people I know. She still wears flowing skirts and picks flowers and loves animals and loves to travel. A beautiful woman in every way. We would talk about work, the OMG-so-cute-I'm-going-to-feign-death-for-his-attention boy from Switzerland, shopping, more boys (or the same boys), or we'd just lay out on the dock by the lake together & listen to music.

When enough of us had the same day off, they'd beg me to reserve the Jeep and drive them into a nearby town that had a mall. Ksu was always in my shotgun seat, singing, laughing, or eating an orange. There was always so much laughter. I'm shaking my head now, thinking about it, because I don't think any of the girls in the back ever put a seatbelt on. How the heck are you supposed to help each other remember the words to the American pop singer if you can't see each others' promptings?? God probably just chuckled and cleared the way for us.

Ksu was one of my very first "safe places". It was just as astounding as it was amazing to have someone just let me be. We had almost nothing in common except a sense of humor and it was still one of the easiest friendships I have ever had. I don't remember ever seeing her upset. Even when she was telling me about the guy she was dating (and liked very much)...Michael was his name...and how they had talked about ending the relationship on friendly terms because at some point, she was going back to Russia and he to China. I could tell it hurt, but she was talking about nothing but good things. I believe I ended up being more heart-broken than she was. (Good-byes are not my strong point. Oy.)

The day I had to drive a bunch of them to the bus stop to get a ride to the airport was heart-wrenching for me. For one thing, please see above statement in parentheses. For another thing, my "safe place" was going halfway around the world. It signaled the end - the end of the summer, the end of making lakeside memories, the end of that season of our friendship. And it was raining. Like, really??

I still have the emails we've exchanged, though they are years old and no new ones have come to replace them. We are friends on FB who rarely speak...who don't need to. I will click through her pictures to remember and she will comment to share a laugh.

"Janellochka" was my honorary Russian name. And I often sign my name that way in correspondence with her. It's a thin, international thread that connects our New Hampshire season when we "lived free" to our current lives, our current selves. We have both changed & grown, but the girls that lived to swim & flirt & explore & get to the bottom of that Hawaiian Tropic bottle are still in there. It came too naturally for it to have gone away with the bus that day.

The last Ksenia told me, she was working as an interpreter for a government office, I believe. And I remember how proud (and envious) I felt. That girl...I know her...we go waaaaay back.

Ksu, you hold a very special place in my heart (where we shop & drink boxed wine & love silly boys), and I believe you always will. I value you & what you've added to my life.

Love,
Janellochka