dirty thirty.

It's funny how the sum of all of the little details of your life affect your outlook on the big traditional landmarks. Last Saturday was my 30th birthday. It passed with a surprisingly small amount of fanfare, and with none of the angst and depression expected. Not a lick. A few days beforehand, a close friend emailed to inquire about my mental state. She noted that "I always make the best of everything." This is interesting, because I've never really seen myself as an upbeat or overly positive person. In my own head I am too often a depressingly realistic, angsty, glass-half-empty sort of girl. Yet for some reason not too many people believe me. On a plane several years ago (back when I was still CERTAIN that writing would be a significant part of any future career), the nice gentleman sitting beside me pronounced, after a couple hours of chatting, that I was "not screwed up enough to be a writer."

I wonder why I was offended by that assertion, and why for some reason my friend's statement didn't land in the synaptic web of my brain as the generous compliment she had intended. Maybe some part of me fears that with contentedness and stability comes a loss of creativity, excitement, drama, etc. I like to think that I come across as a more positive person than I really am when I communicate with my friends, that it's my way of shielding myself from judgment. After all, if I'm bouncy and upbeat about my job, my future, my finances, my appearance...it doesn't really leave many windows of opportunity for criticism, to my face or otherwise. "Well, yeah, she's making a lot less money than if she'd bucked up and gone into practice, but she's so happy that it's obviously worth it."

So what does ANY of that have to do with my 30th birthday? I figured that out when I sat down to reply to my friend's email. I wrote...well, I wrote the following, which I will post in it's entirety, since said friend said afterward that I should do so:

It's weird, because I've been dreading turning 30...pretty much ever since we graduated from college, when I still believed that there was some social "rule" of sorts which dictated that by 30 I needed to own my own home, be either in my dream job or getting close to it, have a great marriage with an impossibly perfect guy, and maybe even have a kid or two. I'm pretty much over THAT, but I gotta say, if I were where I was two years ago, I'd be depressed as hell. So I guess now it feels like...well, I haven't knocked it out of the park when it comes to the things I wanted to have or have done by 30, but I've also come a hell of a long way in just two short years. I'll be turning 30 in a career field that I've discovered I LOVE, even if it is on the beginning end. I won't be living in my own home surrounded by nice things, but at least I'm living a completely self-sufficient life with a hell of a lot less (quickly dwindling) debt than most people in my position, and amazing job benefits to boot. I'm not married with kids, but after what feels like a lifetime of trying out males who were never going to truly respect me or provide what I needed, I've formed a stable, long-term and possibly lifelong relationship with someone who is real and fallible, but who makes me laugh, and thinks I'm worth fighting for, and makes me feel genuinely happy and safe. And of course, to top it all off, I have seriously amazing friendships that have been strong enough to endure distance and adulthood and time. It could be a lot worse, right?

So I performed what was essentially the keyboard equivalent of "scribbling" all of that down. And hit send. And walked away. And then I remembered that one little bit from the Royal Tenenbaums, where Royal says something uncharacteristically heartfelt and then the narrator intones: "Immediately after saying it, Royal realized that it was true."

And if it's true, then...well, crap. Maybe I AM a positive upbeat person after all.

simply stunning.

Only in Memphis....

The link to the story follows, but I think the shirt speaks for itself. Just to clarify...this shirt was (apparently it's been pulled from sale) sanctioned by the University of Memphis Athletic Department Marketing staff.

Memphis Athletics…Selling Rivalry and Sexual Innuendo One T-shirt at a Time

um. hotty toddy anyone?

a quiet evening with charlie.

Charlie is currently stretched out on the carpet and looking out the window. He has this thing he does, where he quietly whines while watching me out of the corner of his eye. He wants me to believe that there is something out there, something that requires his immediate attention. Unfortunately for Charlie, I know him. Charlie is bored. But to his credit, I think he always believes, with his entire furry being, that there is surely something just out of his field of vision to investigate or bark at. When I turn my head toward him he quickly focuses his gaze back to the window and stares intently through the glass. He thinks he's a master manipulator. I think he's adorable, if sometimes exasperating.

Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that Charlie will live just as long as I will, possibly longer. He's entirely too large to be just another dog, and not just physically. Everything about Charlie is expansive...his bark, his showy gait, his sixteen syllable yawn, and especially his sense of humor. Charlie hates closed doors, and should you accidentally leave one open that is normally latched against him, there will be consequences. He recently backed up to the hearth in the normally off-limits basement at my parents' house, and quite deliberately took a dump there, just to mess with my Dad. Right there, dead centered in front of the fireplace. He also has the weirdly human capacity to understand when he looks funny. A couple of months ago he shook his head so violently that his chain collar landed asymmetrically across his face with the ring firmly placed over one eye and then walked around with it, pretending not to notice anything was amiss as we all collapsed in laughter. This has become one of his favorite recurring gags. And I swear that sometimes, when I open the door into the tiled hallway of my apartment, that he has seen me park my car and run to the opposite end of the hall, poised to take a running start at precisely the correct moment to slide gleefully into me the very second the door has swung open and away from his trajectory.

I'd rather he be doing one of the above things (which I can say safely since I personally don't have a hearth) than slowly wearing me down until I drag myself off the couch to take him outside...again...but what the hell, I love him anyway. So...here we go. Come on Charlie, let's go outside.

get it together, ole miss.

Apparently while it used to be true that "we may not win every game, but we ain't never lost a party," the opposite is now becoming factual as our football team grows in stature. Come on, Ole Miss. Strive for perfection!

Ole Miss Slips in Party School Rankings

cakes gone horribly wrong.

Need a pick-me-up on this lovely morning? Check out some truly tragic cakes, courtesy of one of the Sugar websites, which are a favorite of mine.

i promise this isn't becoming a sports blog.

At least not entirely. But as we continue to creep excitedly toward football season at an excruciatingly slow pace, I just find myself more and more with SEC football on the brain, and with all the tradition, memories, fun, and fanfare that accompany it.

So, this is coming from an EXTREMELY biased viewpoint, but I really do find it laughable that the SEC is almost never given the credit it is due, at least from the other conferences or from the gussied up, often pompous pretty boys behind the desk at ESPN. Perhaps they should read this article pretty closely and try reeeally hard to remember it.

These Aren't Tough Times For SEC Football