My Thought of the Day

Last weekend, one of my closest friends married the love of her life.

Granted, I’ve only met the man once or twice before the Big Day, but I can honestly say this is the real deal. I’ve seen how his eyes brighten and sparkle whenever he looks at her. I’ve watched him as he subconsciously moves this way and that when takes care of her, as if he’d been doing this his entire life. When they carry conversations, they speak with one another as if they’d been married for over 30 years and are an older couple who’d mastered the art of holy matrimony years ago.

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a little jealous of them. It’s not a negative jealousy or anything (no special little feelings for anyone!) I’m jealous of the fact that my friend was lucky enough to find her other half and able to spend the rest of her life with him. She’s one of those people who deserves this more than anything. I’m jealous of anyone who is lucky enough to spend their lives with their other halves, but that’s a story for another time.

Let’s focus on the wedding; now, I don’t normally cry at weddings, but this was one where tears made their presence known. The venue was a spectacular dance hall with high vaulted ceilings with pictures of plaster cherubs carrying jugs of overflowing wine. Long slabs of polished granite stretched throughout the entire room, and elegantly delicate chandeliers hung from almost every corner. On the other side of the hall was a smaller room with tightly woven carpet, two handsome fireplaces resting on each end. and an impressive wrap-around bar standing right smack dab in the middle.What made it even more impressive were the open taps.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t know anyone other than the Bride and her Groom, and my suspicions were correct. So, in my normal awkward fashion, I focused on one person standing slightly off from the rest of the crowd and tried to make friends. It worked for a little while… until it was time to sit down at our designated tables. I knew I was going to be quiet and stare at everyone, making them uncomfortable, so I went over to the bar and asked for a Whiskey Sour, one of the few alcoholic beverages I actually like and the bar knows how to make.

On a side note, NEVER drink on an empty stomach. At first, I thought, Okay, this isn’t so bad. The alcohol isn’t hitting me yet, so maybe I’ll have another one. I was halfway through my second Whiskey Sour when it hit me. The room started to pulse with purples and blues (two of the wedding colors – the others were gold, pearl-white, and green) along with the music. I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I carefully made my way to my table in my one and a half inch black heels and sat down as gracefully as I could. Once again, I didn’t know anyone at the table. But the good part was no one knew anyone else there either.  In other words, a clean slate for all. An even better part was everyone else at the table was sipping on their wine glasses and beverages as well. It’s safe to say we were all experiencing some sort of inebriated levels of realities. As we each introduced ourselves and learned a little about the other’s lives, we laughed, joked and told stories that involved either the Bride, the Groom, or both. Our tensions and uneasiness melted away and we all acted like we hadn’t seen one another since college.

It wasn’t long until the wedding party came back into the hall after their pictures were taken. By that time, I was working on my third? Whiskey Sour, a glass of Savignon Blanc, and downed my flute of Champagne after toasts were made in honor of the newly married couple. Safe to say I was feeling rather good.

After we had our dinner and salads, (which were all so great by the way) everyone started to file onto the dance floor and have an unofficial contest of who could rock out the hardest. There was this one guy who was obviously the winner, as he was popping, locking, and grooving his way all around everyone else.

When we weren’t grooving or doing the Charleston (one of my best dance moves, fyi) I was sitting down with my table and trading names. One of the table-goers was my new friend, Milly*. she was wearing this great A-line blood-red dress with a heart shaped bodice she bought for (and you’ll never get this – Amazon of all places!) $15. I was excited for her awesome find, where she then proceeded to whip out her phone and show me how she found it.

Then, later into the night, and after a fourth glass of Whiskey Sour, one of the wedding party members, Stacey*, grabbed me by the arm and said “Leah! You have to try this!”

So of course I got excited and replied something along the lines of “Sure! What am I trying?”

One of the wedding venue servers was handing out tiny chocolate cups of Baileys to other party goers. It looked like a hollowed out Reese’s Peanut butter cups. We all toasted to the happy couple’s long marriage, then took the shot. I ate my cup to chase the alcohol.

We all danced and danced until the last song was played. I remember grabbing my shoes, sweater that I took off because I was getting overheated, an empty decanter that was used as a decoration for the table, and heading out to the designated shuttle to bring me back to the hotel. I got to have that entire shuttle to myself.

The next morning was murder. My nose was clogged up to the back of my throat, my eyes were almost sealed shut from gross crustiness, and a headache was pounding out its own special little tune. It took me at least 20 minutes to get up and make my way to the bathroom. Thankfully, I did not lose my integrity. (Code word for puking my brains out to the end of time)

A few people met down in the hotel lobby for breakfast and trying to recount everything that happened the night before. Words were mumbled, eyes were either narrowed to barely open slits or heavily lidded, and yet, we were all satisfied and our hearts filled with content. 10/10, would do that again.

My liver, on the other hand, would give it a rating of 2/10, do not drink that much for at least another 2-5 years, depending on the alcohol.

*Names were changed to protect those who may not want to be known all over the internet by someone they just met.

A few days ago, I lost a beloved family pet.

He wasn’t just any ol’ cat with bushy tabby/white-colored fur, crinkled up ear, and eyes too big for his head. Nor was he a simple companion for the sole purpose of entertainment.

He was family.

 

If Mischief could talk, he would never say who his favorite human was, though it was pretty obvious. He and my father were inseparable. So much so, that when I had come home from a week’s vacation and went to collect him and my other cat from my parents, they politely told me I could only bring Pepper home with me. Mischief was staying with them. No if’s and/or but’s. Arguments were futile.

In the short time we had Mischief (only 3-4 years even though he was 7), this little furry bundle wormed his way deep into our hearts and confidently planted himself there. The first day he met my parents, instead of running away and hiding under my bed, he asked my father to pick him up. Instead of trying to steal food from our plates, he would ask for hugs and rub his mouth all over our ears.

Mischief didn’t have the greatest start in this life. Most of his early years are unknown, but what I do know is by the time he was 4, he had 5 previous owners. It wasn’t because he was a destructive cat or anything – he was actually one of the sweetest cats I’ve ever met – it was the people. It seemed like no matter who took him in, they were either heavy into drugs, always moving, or something else. And yet, when it was my turn to have him, he was still as lovable and sweet as could be.

True to his name, Mischief was the embodiment of all things naughty and pranks. One of his favorite pastimes was to open up all the cupboards and rummage through all the dishes stored in them. He also liked to sit on the kitchen table and wait for people to come home, slowly wagging his great big bushy tail and blink at us while purring away when he knew he wasn’t supposed to be up there. And yet, his prankster behavior would always be made up by mewing these tiny girly squeaks and then sitting on his hind legs, reaching up for a hug.

Without even a warning, this cat had us wrapped around his little paws.

The point I’m trying to make is that to anyone else in this world, he was just a cat. He was just a four-legged creature that happened to live under the same roof as us humans.

But to my family, he was more. He was a wonderful bright light in this dark world, always ready to make us laugh. He was the best snuggler known to humanity. He loved without measure or limit.

We didn’t just lose a cat on Wednesday… we lost a chunk of our hearts. We lost a member of our family.

A family isn’t only made out of a mommy, daddy, and human children. It’s made out of all sorts of different shapes and sizes: some families have two mommies, some have two daddies, and some have a mom, a dad, one human kid, and 4-5 furry children. A family member is still a family member, no matter the species.

Not going to lie, it’s going to be a while before our hearts begin to heal. It’s something that we’re going to have to grieve on in our own time. It’s what you do when you lose a family member. So for now, we grieve, we remember, and we pray he’s up in Heaven, chasing leaves, lounging in the sun, and snuggling with our other loved ones waiting for us to join them.

I’ve been out of school for roughly a couple years now.

For the most part, it feels pretty good: no more hours upon hours of homework, no more studying until the first bleak rays of early morning for tests, and no more having to ride an elongated banana of a bus with well-worn pleather seats that reek of cleaning solutions.

And yet, I can not for the life of me shake that just-before-school feeling.

You know the one I’m talking about: that tiny little nugget of excitement that fills your belly when you walk past a back-to-school supplies sale. That sense of packing your things into a new backpack for the first day of school. Seeing your friends again while being surrounded by desks, magic-erase boards, and rows upon rows of lockers.

But that’s only half of the back to school coin.

The other half… not as much fun. I’m talking about having to wake up at the crack of dawn Monday through Friday, haunting the kitchen like a half-alive zombie in search of cereal and a bowl. (Not necessarily in that order! Believe me, I’ve made that mistake too many times to dare count.) Preparing lunches because you forgot to get it all together the night before…again. And don’t even get me started on sharing the bathroom in the morning.  When you grow up in a relatively small two-bedroom farm house with only one closet-sized bathroom, things can get pretty hairy in a blink of a sleep-encrusted eye.

Then again, now that I think about it, this is pretty much what adults have to deal with, only it’s 24/7. Instead of getting up before the sun pokes above the tree tops to get on the bus, I have to get up to make sure I get adequate bathroom time. Instead of having homework to bring home and fuss  over, I have to rush and get everything finished before I can jump in my car and run away for the night. And instead of having to deal with grumpy teachers who would rather be anywhere else than in the classroom, I have the pleasure of working with customers who don’t know what they’re doing, and yet still have the firm belief that everything is my fault.

Which brings me to vacation. While students get to have whole summers away from educational institutions, no matter how great or disastrous they may be, grown-ups who don’t work in the educational field don’t get to have that luxury. Instead, depending on how long they may have worked at a job, they can have a range of one to two weeks of precious vacation. That’s it. two weeks. Maybe more if they’ve spent more than 10 or so years at a business. For most places, the vacation is paid. Some places, such as fast-food restaurants, don’t even give you that. If you want a vacation, then you have to plan for that allotted time without a regular source of income.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say in a round-about way is: While school seems to be a soul-sucking institution of unusual punishment at times, it’s a lot better than having to live as a functioning adult to society.

Can I go back to being a kid and dealing with just school?