While not as eloquent as EricBlues, Seth Meyers says what so many of us have been thinking regarding Mr. Phelps. Sure, he made a huge mistake… but whoever took the photo is a huge dbag. You can quote me on that.

I’ve always considered myself to be a math person, so I should have realized this bloggin’ everyday thing would eventually lead to a large number of posts.  However, when I noticed a few days ago that I was approaching the big 5-0-0, it was more of a suprise than it should have been.  Let’s not tell Mr. Laduke (my HS math teacher) that I’ve slipped so far down the arithmatic chain, k?  With my ankle propped up and icing (see, Mom, I am taking care of myself) I spent a few hours this evening reading back again through the last year and a half of my life, and as much as I’m still Laurel, I find hope in the growth and change that has happened.  So to commemorate this slightly momentous posting occasion, I thought I’d share back with you five of my favorite/truest/funniest posts of our time together.

5)  Happy Birthday, Spacewolf!  (Zac’s 25th Birthday video)

4) My mom’s love of telling time, my dad’s ADD confessions, and Zac’s pranks… humor… and awesomeness.

3)  The time I was called a lesbian, saw Ryan Adams and The Cardinals, John Mayer, Ingrid, the Crows and Matty Nay to name a few, fed the masses, begged my bffs take over, and celebrated my 27th in style.

2) Written back at the beginning of the great CaresTeam departure/Laurel moving out on her own.

Change is still headed my way. I’m still gonna have moments of complete and utter collapse, and what needs to happen in the next few months will still overwhelm me. But, I’ve stopped playing the reality peek-a-boo game because I know that time marches on whether or not you want it to. For now, let’s go ahead and schedule a time this fall where we can all sit back and laugh at my drama queen distress today. We’ll watch the Arizona sun set as we sip iced tea, and I won’t be offended when you remind how we all knew deep down… it would be okay.

Say it with me now… you were right. It was/ok better than ok.

1) The great Charlie abduction, ransom note, detective work, and New World Order video.

Finally, the NBA finals are set to begin Thursday night.  Boston Celtics vs LA Lakers.  These teams are no strangers to facing each other in the Finals.  They’ve met ten times in the past with Boston walking away with the championship eight times.  I grew up in the Bird-Magic era with a father who was just as fanatical about LB as Zac is about Favre.  No. 33 was the hero in our 80′s sports story, and I still believe today there would have been no Air Jordan domination if Johnson and Bird hadn’t have paved the way and rejuvenated the sport that I love so much. While this isn’t 1984, the NBA needs a reason to believe again: a reason for its fans to feel good about their loyalty.

Usually I’d find it hard to be too overwhelmingly passionate about a series not featuring the Suns, but this Celtics vs Lakers series is what I’ve been hoping for for the past month.  (I even cheered for the Lakers over the Spurs and felt dirty.  That’s how much I hate San Antonio.)  Can Kobe finally be the superhero in the finals and not just the trusty sidekick?  Is the PGA (Pierce, Garnett, and Allen) tour ready to start the newest Boston dynasty and get the rings they’ve coveted for the past decade?  Can this series remind us why we love this game?  We’ll find the answers out soon enough.

scrannel (SKRAN-l) adjective

1. Thin.

2. Unmelodious.

[Of unknown origin.]

“I might punch myself if I have to listen to that scrannel music bleeding through my bedroom walls for one more minute.”

I’m opening a big ol’ can of worms here, and I’m quite positive even if some of you don’t comment you’ll still be reading this and shaking your head at my slanted political views and lack of political respect. But screw it… I just have one important question I’d like answers to tonight. How is it Jon Stewart has the ability to make people seem so freakin’ cool? Take the next two clips of Presidential Candidate John McCain on Wed’s episode of The Daily Show. Yes, I know this is FAKE NEWS. No, I don’t care.

McCain is genuinely funny and seems to understand a simple fact most politicians get wrong: a large number of The Daily Show and Colbert Report viewers are not looking for a campaign speech or lecture on the virtues of one’s possible presidency. We watch to laugh. It’s that simple. Of course, McCain plugs himself. Yet, for any one who’s seen the other two candidates on fake news lately, McCain is a breath of fresh, humorous air. Despite the fact that deep down you know he’s taking this presidency thing seriously… he has fun with Stewart and plays along. I mean he chooses Dwight K. Schrute for his running mate. Did he not see last week’s episode of The Office?!?! Dwight is an unstable power-hungry leader. Honestly, Dwight’s Emergency Take-over chart reminds me of another famous second-in-command, but that’s just a coincidence, right?

Now the sad thing in this whole election year is many in my generation look to Colbert and Stewart for real news. Lately, we’ve stopped confidently deciding our views on our own and have allowed ourselves to be swept up in punditry and flashing lights. Colbert and Stewart are at their best when they work together as a check-and -balance system of our nation, culture, and thought process. and a catalyst to our own research. Maybe I’ve got this all wrong, but let’s try something new as we move toward November. FoxNews, MSNBC and all your friends, do your job and hook us up with the facts. Stewart and Colbert, you just keep entertaining us, and hopefully, each one of us will decide who we are and what we believe and stand unwaveringly. Isn’t that the change we need?

If you’ve ever spent much time with kids under the age of three, I’m sure you’ve noticed that each one of them live by a few universal toddler rules. 1) The loudest wail gets the most accomplished and the most positive or negative attention. 2) Anything and everything can be put in your mouth no matter how many times you’ve been told not to. 3) If I can’t see you, you’re not really there. It’s funny how as adults we without realizing it follow those same lifelines. Except instead of throwing temper tantrums with flying snot and tears, we roll our eyes and make catty comments or whisper our displeasure. We make poor decisions that we’ve been warned countless times against or that we should innately stay away from. Like the adorable kid covering their eyes with their own hands, we pretend that if don’t acknowledge reality it doesn’t exist.

I’ve spent the last few weeks covering my own eyes as change loomed on the horizon. I hate change. I hate the unknown. I hate not having a plan, a scheduled calendar of events six months in the future. I hate not having control. Sure, I knew things couldn’t always be the way they are now. I knew the facts and chose to suppress those natural human emotions of “what the crap am I gonna do??” Then, tonight it all came crashing down. Dates where a new existence would begin were written on a calendar. Deadlines were set. Goodbyes and hellos became more than just the inevitable, and reality become truth and not just a suggestion.

Let’s not beat around the bush. I didn’t handle it well. Panic set in. I hopped in the car and called my mom who just listened and let those emotions overflow. I hashed out possibilities and timelines. I told her how scared I was and how it wasn’t the future that frightened me but not knowing the path I was supposed to take. She reminded me that every season comes to an end, and every happening has a purpose. She offered encouragement and the reminder that this change was an answer to prayer and the end of countless struggles. She was my wise mother, a compassionate mommy, and my bff mom when I needed her most.

Change is still headed my way. I’m still gonna have moments of complete and utter collapse, and what needs to happen in the next few months will still overwhelm me. But, I’ve stopped playing the reality peek-a-boo game because I know that time marches on whether or not you want it to. For now, let’s go ahead and schedule a time this fall where we can all sit back and laugh at my drama queen distress today. We’ll watch the Arizona sun set as we sip iced tea, and I won’t be offended when you remind how we all knew deep down… it would be okay.

It’s 9am on a Sunday morning, and I’m at work. I don’t mean to spend so much time here. I do actually have a life outside of these walls, but lately, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Campus is abuzz with activity as frantic students hurry to turn everything in, and while I’m no longer one of them, I still feel the strain and stress of the semester end. In the next two weeks, there are yearly evaluations to conduct on my 30 students, summer projects to launch and manage, an increase in the support we provide as final projects and papers are due, and my own new work project. To top it all off, I’m struggling to retrain my body that work hours are no longer 10am – 6 pm but 7:30 am – 4:30pm.

Truthfully, its not the waking up that’s the issue. (That’s why God created coffee.) The issue is the going to bed. I’m innately a night owl. If I don’t watch myself, it’ll be 11pm, and I’ll think, “Hey, I should do some laundry… go for a drive… reorganize my life.” Then, the next time I look at a clock it’ll be 3:30 in the blessid am and I’ll wonder why I’m feeling sleepy. No wonder I’m the full-time staff member who gets the ‘sorry it’s midnight but we need you to come into the office calls’… everyone else is smart enough to be sleeping!!!

So starting tomorrow I’m setting up so new ground rules for my life. No more late-night caffeine, cleaning sessions, or drives to Winslow. Bedtime will be closer to when the sun goes down than when it comes back up. Work (when possible) is to be done only at work and left there. No more hauling stuff home to work on after-hours. Instead, I’ll just stay an extra thirty minutes to crank out what is top priority in the office where there are less interruptions. Also, breakfast is a must. If I discovered anything this past week, it was that going into work mid-morning without a real breakfast is no big deal. However, going into work a few hours earlier without breakfast equals a near-meltdown by 10 am.

I’m a realist.  I know that I’m not going to be able to adhere to these new rules every day of the week.  You can’t change a tiger’s stripes, right???  But, if I manage to do it at least 75% of the time, life will be much, much sweeter.

Know what that is?!?! Oh yeah, it’s a picture message from Zac of the movie poster for X-Files: I Want To Believe, the much-anticipated, ‘I’m gonna pee-squirt’ X-Files sequel. Never has there been a show that I so religiously followed and unabashedly loved as this one, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the script must be phenomenal if it could draw Gillian Anderson out of her acting hiatus. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, and Chris Carter are all on-board, and I’m just not sure I can wait until its July release. Guess it’s time to start watching all the old episodes again. Eeek!!!

Isn’t this the exact behavior I spend 42% of my life trying to discourage? Might as well just keep all your passwords to your email, bank account, and all other private information on a post-note beside your keyboard.

“So long you’ve journeyed, hiding your face from the wind. Wondering if your broken heart will ever hope again. I know it seems like all your dreams have been buried somewhere on the way. But I can hear a new beginning calling your name.”

Throughout my life I have learned countless lessons from my mother. I’ve learned how to sew on a button, survive in the kitchen, and what it means to be loyal. Yet, one of the simplest, most valuable lessons I ever learned from her was a festering wound hurts more to clean than a fresh one. Over a year and a half ago I was tripped and scraped my emotional knees, but instead of running to my mom and having her clean and kiss it to make it all better like I did when I was little, I hid my wounds from the world. I was ashamed of what had happened and when I did tell a few people I received two responses… “move on and get over it” and “this is why I avoid such situations”. Part of me hoped that people would look at me and see that I was hurting, and the other part was determined not to let a single person’s actions wound me so deeply. Just as my mom had always taught me… I can’t control someone else’s actions, but I could control my reactions.

For the past year I have been pretending I was in control. Pretending that my soul didn’t ache and that this was just a speed bump in the journey of my life. I was lying to myself because the truth was by pretending nothing was the matter I was letting this wound grow infected and fester in my heart. I had dropped my journey’s compass, and even if most of the world didn’t notice that I was lost, I was. But beyond just being lost, I refused to tell anyone I was wandering. It was as if I had gotten food poisoning from my favorite restaurant but was too loyal to its owners to tell anyone that I had gotten sick there and was too scared to eat there or at any other restaurant again. As wrong as it was I think I felt I was to blame for ordering the dish that made me sick. So I stayed hungry and silent for far too long.

Then out of the blue within the span of hours on Saturday two of the wisest women I know asked me how I was dealing with ‘eating out’ after what had happened at ‘my favorite restaurant’, and it was like a dam burst within me. You see, the thing about a festering wound is if you leave it long enough when you finally pick that scab all of the grossness that’s been building up inside rushes out. For the first time in a long time I was forced to really look at what I was pretending not to feel and before I could stop, I was confessing that I was scared and unsure of where I belonged. Finally, I was thoroughly cleaning my wound.

I wish I could tell you that after some emotional alcohol wipes and hydrogen peroxide everything got better, but that’s just not the case. While no one expected me to eat at my old favorite restaurant again, I had been starving and needed to eat somewhere. So the next day I prepared to go ‘eat’ like I had my whole life except it had never felt this difficult or lonely before. My go-to support team for situations like this (and an endless supply of hugs) were all out of town, so this leg of the journey was mine to travel alone. It might seem silly to some but I fought back the tears the entire way to the new ‘restaurant’. Facing your past fears and hurts is never easy and just because I was beginning to heal didn’t mean that I wasn’t still in pain. It took what seemed like the strength of a hundred men to take that first step of faith and get out of the car, walk inside, and sit down alone. Despite the fact that just being there felt more like home than I had felt in months, it was still a struggle, until an old friend walked up behind me, gave me a hug, and asked me to move out of my lonely pew and come sit beside her.

Even though the first step is usually the hardest to take, healing doesn’t magically happen overnight or because you pretend it does. It’s an uphill battle of staying emotionally clean and checking those old wounds for signs of new infection. Just like the times when I fell as a kid, I’m sure this part of my journey will eventually leave a scar. But a scar reminding me of the strength I found in forgiving and moving on is much easier to carry than a wound filled with lingering guilt, self-lies, and hidden shame. With my compass in hand, the journey continues, but hopefully from now on, I’ll remember exactly how right mom always is.

“Go on and join the dance. And take the chance. Let your heart dare to believe again…”

168 hours (that’s 7 seasons of terrorist killing for Jack Bauer) after I discovered that my beloved Charlie had been abducted I received a second ransom note from the terrorist group. Unlike the last note, this note was in an envelope that contained a compact disk (cd) and proof that Charlie was in the possession (Charlie’s severed thumb). To be honest, I would not have located the note so quickly if not for the fact the group had procured my email address and boldly tipped me off to the whereabouts of the note. Freedom’s Enemy, as they called themselves, had finally upped the anty and produced the first photos of Charlie since he had disappeared. Because of the on-going investigation, I cannot give you any more info as to what we have discovered and what we know about this group. However, just as I promised, we will not rest until this group has been apprehended and punished.


Because of their graphic nature, I’ve decided to post the rest of the images after the break. If you are 18 years or older and can handle them please continue reading. Click To Continue Reading…

Today is February 29th… leap day, and I’m supposed to be taking a break from my daily blogging. I’m supposed to do something different while I rest my voice and my fingers. So just as rare as this day is, I’m going to be vulnerable and talk about the cracks in my armor. I’ve never done this well, and therefore being as type-A as I am, I shy away from such discussions. Strength, to me, has always meant caring for those around me and never being a burden to their struggles. It’s meant being high maintenance but completely self-maintained… not crying when most would but bawling at something as trivial as Grey’s Anatomy because I’d rather be seen as silly than broken. Simply, it’s meant knowing your struggles and heartaches and never telling you mine.

That’s where this blog thing gets hard to do some days. Because no matter how open and honest I try to be here, I still find myself tucking away parts of me to remain hidden from the world. I was blog hopping earlier today (JAWS training can get a bit tedious) and was surprised to see so many bloggers who find this ability to be raw and honest with their readers. They rant about things I don’t dare speak about, and in some ways, I’m jealous. Since I began this journey there have been a handful of things I’ve longed to speak about on here, but I don’t… because I can’t bring myself to be that open and would hate to wound someone with my commentary on something they’ve done. I want to talk about the heartaches and letdowns I’ve suffered at the hands of others and the things I’ve learned about myself from them. I want to ask why I don’t matter enough. I want to question those people in my life who take more than they ever could give and refuse to pull their weight in our relationship and say goodbye to those who had to be pruned away. I have things to say about how I’m scared of getting older and sometimes wonder if I’m ever going to be good enough. Heck, I even want to talk about the taboo subjects of politics and religion. But I don’t.

As you can guess, this isn’t easy to confess. I’ve worked hard to have it all under control knowing full well I’d love someone to reach and help. Even as I write this, I silently wish that if you read this you don’t act with pity toward me or treat me as if I’m fragile. I don’t know if I could handle that. In a perfect world, each of us would always strive to be the kind of friend we desire others to be to us. Wouldn’t that solve so many of our heartaches and heal our hidden wounds? However, no one is perfect, and leap year is just a way for us to catch up with the sun. So tomorrow, we’ll go back to normalcy here and while there might be a few posts about the upcoming election or those conservative values of mine, I’ll speak of nothing but love for each of you because in the end… I love you, no matter what.

In case you’ve missed the theme around these parts lately, my love of winter is slowly escaping out the back door as a feeling of uneasiness and downright blah-ness takes over. Even my trip to Phoenix with Jeff on Saturday night (which I’ll post pics of tomorrow) couldn’t bring me out of my funk. Half of my issue is that I’m still recovering from the flu, and the other part is, as I’ve previously mentioned, the weather is slowly stealing my soul. Yesterday was a snow day and instead of being excited to not have to go into work, I felt like a caged animal. I cleaned house, did laundry, and listened to way too much Ryan Adams (geez, that guy can be depressing), but in the end, the day just felt like lingering death. I’m positive it’s nothing as serious as seasonal affective disorder, and while I’ve never been one to freely admit weakness, I could use a few extra hugs and rays of sunshine right about now.

I try not to rant… work hard to not whine.  But for the love of all that is right and holy, this weather needs to stop.  I live in Arizona where the state motto is, “Want Skin Cancer? We’re Here To Help.”  Yet, I find myself wearing 13 layers of clothing, blow-drying my frostbitten toes, and building a fire in the middle of the living room just to stay warm.  Maybe I’m exaggerating a teeny, tiny bit… I  mean, I do live at an elevation 7,200 feet where snow is inevitable.  This I understand.  After eight winters, I have grown accustomed to shoveling snow, trying not to break my neck on icy stairs, and the occasional bout of cabin fever due to being stuck indoors because of a storm.  However, this winter has been so much more than just a storm here and there.  We have been dumped on repeatedly and never seem to get the chance to recover.  Parking lots are covered with 2 inch thick slabs of ice.  The roads are full of potholes that make you wonder if you’ve just run over a kindergartener, and to add insult to injury, no matter how bad the weather is or how much snow is on the ground, the university never shuts down.  It’s no wonder half of the student and staff population is fighting Flagstaff’s version of the bird flu.  Today is just another shining example.  Weather.com says it ‘feels like 12 degrees’ and is predicting another foot of snow on the ground by morning.  Oh joy!  A friend jokingly mentioned today she’s considering moving to San Diego… I just might have to join her.

What do you do with the people in your life who don’t listen to you? Whether it’s a family member, a friend, or even a foe doesn’t matter if they aren’t taking the time to be vested in your world. I’m sure most of us have such a character in our life’s play. (Chaucer would have a field day with the imagery of this person. Massive mouth… non-existent ears.) These are the people who have the gift of gab, and being the good friend, enemy, or relative that you are, you listen, take notes, and ask questions in the appropriate places. Heck, you could probably be a contributing editor in the wikipedia page of their life. But the flipside of the coin is they truly have no idea what’s happening in your life and that doesn’t seem to bother them. They nod and smile, offering the right oh’s and hmmmm’s, but aren’t digesting your words. In all of your conversations, 95% of what they say is self-focused as if it’s your job to offer them a place to verbally purge themselves. I’m a pretty open person. I mean most of my life’s details can be found in this blog (even if I believe these people just skim through the posts looking for pictures). I strive to be supportive and truly listen to those who speak to me. I’m not asking everyone around me to be Laurelologists, but it might be nice to not have to say the same thing over and over again because they weren’t really paying attention each previous time. But what would be the best would be if this person asked, “how was your day?” and for once… really heard me.