heaven only knows.

This weekend, for the second time, I ventured to the 6th Floor Museum in downtown Dallas. If you're unfamiliar with the 6th floor and it's significance, it's believed to be the spot that Lee Harvey Oswald aimed his rifle at JFK and shot him. Side note: I side with the Warren Commission and believe that Oswald shot him.

Anyway, while taking a stroll through the museum a very small thing caught my attention in a big way: it was the card from JFK's funeral and this was across it, "Dear God, please take care of your servant John Fitzgerald Kennedy."

Now, for obvious reasons, this got me to thinking about Heaven. I think about Heaven all the time and what it'll be like. Mostly, I get extremely excited to sit and talk with Paul. I have more than enough questions for Paul to last us through eternity. Most notably: Did anyone continue to call you Saul and were people like, "Sorry, Saul, you can't choose your own nickname, I will not call you Paul?" And I really want to sit and talk with Peter and see if he is as dumb as I imagine.

But, after reading that funeral card I immediately realized something: There is a huge possibility (meaning, I know I'll be there) that I could be in Heaven with JFK! Not just JFK, but every other President of the United States that claims Christianity, which is all of them, I believe.

Are you kidding me? I will have the opportunity to sit with Franklin Pierce and discuss his amazing list of besties? I can ask James Buchanan if he was gay? I can ask James Madison if he had short man syndrome? The possibilities are endless on this...I'm hoping that when Jesus greets me at the gate he brings Martin Van Buren with him to usher me into His eternal kingdom.

And I also hope there's pizza.

thriller.

Like everyone else in the world, today I am mourning the loss of Michael Jackson. Yesterday my brosef called and said, "Hey...just wanted to check on you...figured you'd be pretty upset." Yes, upset I was and and upset I am.

On my fifth birthday I danced around my house and sang, "You know I'm five, I'm five, you know it...tell you once again...who's five?!" I loved him then and I love him now.

I loved him even more when my nickname in high school became Thriller and at each dance one of my friends would request it and I'd dance a solo to it. I even have the "Thriller" album framed in my office at work-- it was a high school graduation gift.

Michael Jackson, I salute you for being a complete weirdo and for giving the world some really bad ass music. I'll try to ignore the fact that you were accused of some pretty sick things and remember that you were not convicted. I'll remember your attempt to heal the world and free Willy. I'll heed your advice and remember to always think twice. I hope now, where ever you are, that Diana is no longer dirty, that Billie Jean has found the father of her child and that you can be accepted for who you are on the inside and not on the outside, because Michael, it doesn't matter if you're black or white.

Here's to you, MJ, here's to you.

coming soon: Jesus (maybe)

I was barely 16 when the Y2K hysteria swept through Baptist churches across the land, but I remember the panic and the stockpile of canned goods and bottled water. I found it silly then and even more humorous now. It was as if people were declaring that if the world was going to end and Jesus wasn't on his way they could survive off of Spaghettio's and microwavable brownies.

I knew very little about end times then and I barely know enough now to boast an opinion on the subject-- it's just one of those really tough subjects that no one will really know about until it comes...but, lately some really weird things have been happening. Like, really weird. Things, that I believe, are definite signs (signs will be bolded to make it easier for you to follow) of the Lord's impending return. Signs that are very much Biblical: wars, natural disasters and so on and so forth...and then, then there's these: first off, it's hot as fire outside. Even at 7pm. I think Jesus is giving some people one last opportunity to realize that they do not want to spend eternity in hell. Repent now, it's hot!

Then, there's Lady Gaga and Spencer Pratt (yes, the emergence of these two characters lead me to believe Jesus is coming soon). I mean-- who are they? Where did they come from? Are they real? They have to be a sign from the Lord. HAVE. TO. BE. They are everything that is wrong with the world today. Everything. Don't follow? Check it: "But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them." 2 Timothy 3:1-5 If that doesn't describe those two I don't know what does!

If that isn't enough to convince you, here are some other things: I own a pair of real-life-fitted-to-my-foot-running-shoes. If you know me, you know that running is very last on my list of things I want to do ever and working out is merely something I say I am thinking about doing to fit in with my friends. Now, I own a pair of real running shoes and go more than once a week? Hello, apocalypse, nice to meet you.

And lastly: my parents told me I shouldn't come visit them, as they would be busy and out of town. The most watched television show on Monday night was about a marriage dissolving. I'm not sure I've ever witnessed something so terribly sad as watching a family fall apart in front of a camera. A camera that they happily welcome. There is a show on television (reality, duh) where a 16-year-old boy said, "I would say my passion is hooking up with girls." What? Is this life? Can that be a passion? Most people's passions fall somewhere in the realm of helping others to basketball and this kid said hooking up with girls? Hello, hurry up, Jesus.

**Usual religious disclaimer: This post was not meant to mock the Lord's return or to take away from the seriousness of the Gospel and His promise to return. But, seriously: repent now, it's hot!

** Bridge diagram available upon request.

my father.

With Father's Day fast approaching and my ever-so-busy calendar I am paying tribute to my biological father a couple of days in advance. I don't think he's much of a blog enthusiast, which means I'm even more selfless than I originally thought because he might not ever read this! Here's to you, Reg...

How does one write a tribute to the man who's given her 76% of everything she's ever asked for and only asked for 34% of it back in return?

Reg, thanks for being the most punctual person to ever live. Thanks for teaching me that 3:30am is early and 6:30 means you should either be at your destination or halfway there. Because of you, I've never been late to anything ever and all of my friends think I'm the most annoying person in the world and compare me to Hitler when we take a road trip. It's because of you that I can go six hours in a car without having to take a bathroom break and it's because of you that my watch is my best friend and quite possibly, my soul mate. Thanks for teaching me that time is valuable and 30 minutes is only long enough to wait. But, really thanks for making me dependable.

Reg, thanks for valuing education and pushing me to work hard in school, even if pushing me meant putting the fear of God into me at an extremely early age to do well. I'm sorry I couldn't carry on the family tradition of barely squeaking through college with an engineering degree and decided to pursue something more creative and right-brain like. But, you're still the smartest person I know and it's because of you I feel like I can do just about anything simply because, "my dad is an engineer." I can't wait to watch you do math and science with your grandchildren someday. It will surely be a sight to watch someone who needs 57 pages of scrap paper and four pencils (with fresh erasers) do math with children who will probably come out of the womb texting and using calculators. Thanks for having the answer to every question ever and if you didn't have the answer, thanks for getting it in a timely manner. It's because of you that I love to know the how and why of things. You are my human google and that is said with much love and much admiration.

Reg, thanks for being absolutely freakin' hilarious. I'm sorry I didn't figure out how funny you were until I was 18 though. Nonetheless, you make me laugh like no one else and without a doubt much of my sense of humor and dry wit comes straight from the horse's mouth-- you. Thanks for laughing with me and for telling great stories about clowns and pirates and for appreciating Chevy Chase, I owe my love of all the Vacation movies to you. Actually, most movies from my childhood are still my favorites even now, because you didn't know that the brosef and I shouldn't be watching movies like Major League when we were but wee-little-tykes.

Reg, thanks for being a daddy, a dad and a father. You worked so hard to buy me expensive Nike shoes for me to play basketball in and you only missed like, two games ever in my whole life. Thanks for loving me enough to discipline me and teach me right from wrong. And left from right. Thanks for protecting me frogs, from a scary big brother and for making sure I always had my seat belt on. Thanks for playing catch with me or shagging baskets for me even though you had been at work for 10 hours. Thanks for taking care of my mom and for loving her. Thanks for showing me what a husband and dad is supposed to be-- selfless. Thanks for taking care of your mother while she was sick and for being the best son-in-law ever to your mother-in-law. Thanks for finally learning how to text message. Thanks for loving Fergie and for always calling when she's on television. Thanks for teaching me how to do things, no matter how painful, rather than just doing them for me. Thanks for raising me to be independent. Thanks for loving me even though it's extremely difficult at times, but hey-- I am my father's daughter and I couldn't be more proud to say that.

Happy 27th Father's Day, Reg, I hope you finally get that parrot to complete your life as a pirate.

corrinne.

There are a million different ways you can meet someone: You could be introduced through mutual friends, move past the buffer zone and decide to forge ahead with the friendship. You could meet someone by chance and exchange phone numbers. You could work with someone and decide to be friends outside of the office. Your parents could force someone upon you. You could meet in Sunday school. You could meet in rehab.

Or.

You could pursue a friendship over g-chat like, my dear friend (I think that term is appropriate here, given the number of hours we have actually spent together: 3), Corrie and I have been doing for two or so years now. My friend Risa was constantly obsessing over her "grad-school friend Corrie" who was hilarious and I decided I wanted to be her friend and thus, a friendship was born.  She has since became one of my most loyal blog readers (I like to think of them [the readers] as blog enthusiasts, actually) and someone I can constantly bounce history facts off of because she works at the National Archives! She's like the gatekeeper of all the greatness in the U.S. She loves to have me photoshop her or her boyfriend's head on other's people bodies and she gives sound advice on the following life categories: friendships, relationships, jobs, Republicans, when to clap or not clap (like, should we clap after a prayer? Like, if it's really good?), g-chatting while working and one time she helped me decide if a pair of loafers were somewhat butchy.

Corrie is finally get a much deserved SHOUT OUT because she was featured in Washington Life Magazine as one of the Philanthropic 50. Now, do I really know what this means? No. But, am I so proud that she shared this feat with me? YES and YES. 

She's obviously very good at her job, which surprises me somewhat, because when we went on a tour of the White House she would hear about the job of a secretary or aide of some sort and would exclaim, "Oh, gosh! I could never do that job! I bet there's no time for g-chat." But, hey-- I love surprises. 

Congrats, Corrie. I bet your mother is clapping really loud right now. And keep up the g-chatting at work, it doesn't seem to be affecting you much! 

connect the dots.

Isn't it always crazy the day you look back at your life and say, "Ohhhhh, I get it now. That happened because ___ happened and ____ happened because of_____." And then, everything in your world is new for a little while and you b-bop along happily until you get angry that _____ happened, sometimes for a second or third time. 

For example, Shasta McNasty is so upset that Robert broke-up with her. She's devastated and won't listen to any Taylor Swift songs, but then she meets Jason and realizes everything she learned from Robert and "bam!" all the pieces fit together for her. This cycle is repeated until Shasta gets married. 

I say all of this for a few reasons:

First, in 10 years when I'm an alcoholic I don't want anyone to be shocked (myself or otherwise). I want to remember that I became an alcoholic because of Dallas traffic. I want to be able to say, "Well, since I sat in traffic all the time with idiot drivers, who go completely ignorant anytime it rains, I decided to start drinking and now I'm here." 

Second, in 20 years when I've had my fifth back surgery I want to remember that I'm having that surgery because I thought buying a television was more important than buying a new mattress. I want to be able to say, "Yes, doctor I know this could have been prevented. I know there were early warning signs, but the pain was never at the forefront of my mind because I was watching the Real World/Road Rules Challenge in HD on a huge television!" 

And when I've lost my bid to became a state senator I want to remember that it's because I'm an  alcoholic with a bad back and not because I'm not awesome. I want to be able to look back at my life and say, not what I could've done different or how I could've done more to get elected, no, I want to be able to blame it all on Dallas traffic. 

I want to be able to connect the dots.

So, I close with a warning: pay attention to your life. One trip to Target could turn you into a meth addict. Or having someone tell you to "lay off the bacon," could cause you to revolt against bacon for the better part of your life no matter how much you love it's fatty goodness. 

the 25th.

Today, my bestie, Brittain, who was also my former blogmate turns 25-years-old. It's a monumental day for her as her car insurance rates get lower, she can rent a car and she's closer to 30 than 20. That's a hefty day. 

Having a friend like Brittain is difficult and challenging at times, but the dividends that those trials produce are fruitful and abundant.  Her friendship is truly worth its weight in hair products. 

This blog has seen it's fair share of dedications to Brittain, so I'm going to spare you on all the reasons I love Brittain because just like when she turned 24 the world is better because she's in it. 

Happy Burrday, Britta. You are loved.