Number three: I have the best "family"

Post three in my series:

I come from a small family. I have three first cousins. We, meaning my brother, sister, and I, are not close to those cousins for various reasons including the age gap, how far away we live from one another, and general differences in disposition that make us less inclined to make massive attempts to change any of this. That may seem rude, and it probably is. I'm just calling it like it like I see it. (It's a two way street, they could make an effort, but choose not to either. I am ok with this.)

That said, our "family" is the best. It mainly consists of the family friends that my are people my dad either grew up with, or went to college with. Their kids are the closest thing I've got to cousins. They are the best.  I consider myself lucky to hang out with this crowd. They're the cool kids and I lucked into calling friend. Any one of them would have my back if I needed it. 

These pictures come from Kelby's (another one of my "cousins") wedding this weekend. I don't have any with the bride but, these are just a few of the important people I adore. 

Me and Sam

Susan, my mom, and Sherri

As my dad refers to himself, "the dad"

Susan and Monty

Jacque, me, and Sam

Jacque, me, and Sam enjoying the post wedding festivities

We're so attractive.

Someone should have taken away the technology at this point :). 

I am a lucky and loved girl. I only hope that I show them how much I appreciate them.

BFFL

I've made a new best friend. Have you ever met someone and it just clicks? If you haven't - there is still time. Don't you worry. If you have, isn't it just so nice?

That's how it is with Kate. Kate and I met about a year ago on an interview for the same position. The vibes from everyone on that weekend were weird, so I didn't really try to make friends. I wasn't being rude or anything, but we were all interviewing for the same 6-10 jobs... It was bound to be a little awk. 

Kate and I really met about a month or so ago. I ADORE her. She's sunshine and glitter and laughs and  artsy and yes. We get along SO SO SO well. Perfect example: we were talking about pintrest and then spent the next three hours searching for shipping pallets to steal from dumpsters take off some store that was just going to throw them out to DIY on. We were massively successful. For the win. We're going to have so much fun crafting this summer. In all the ways I'm crafty, she is artistic. And it's going to have some BOMB results. Just you wait, blogosphere, just you wait. 

And we had almost this exact conversation yesterday spontaneously.

She's a rock star and I am lucky to have such a good friend here. We're also insanely alike in some big ways, and yet so different in others.

I seriously love her.

For all the time I spend with other people, I felt pretty lonely in the past semester or two... This has been just what I needed. 

thoughts for the day.

So, my dad went to therapy with me. I have a lot of feelings about this that I'm not overly ready to get into, but it has given me a lot to think about. I also want to preface all of this with a few things.

1. I am exceptionally loved. This is not something I doubt and it is not something I have ever questioned. 
2. I have never gone without anything I needed. 
3. My father's care for me and my needs is so amazingly apparent in his willingness to fly 500 miles to go to therapy with me even though he is not a fan of therapy at all. 

One of the things that my therapist made mention of was how it's clear that I run the conversations Dad and I have had in real life, or the way I think they would go if we were talking about X subject, whatever X subject is, in my head over and over. Because I know his responses so well, and sincerely, I do know his responses and how they make me feel so well, it is exhausting.

I expend the emotions and mental worry over these conversations I hold in my head when I rehearse them which makes me not want to repeat the conversation in person for the exact same outcome and the additional burden of the actual experience as opposed to just the expectation of the awfulness of it all. Though my internal perception of what will come is typically spot on, it's worse in some ways because it's not actually my parents saying those words (until they do), but rather me telling myself the same things they would. It's a double whammy after it's come from me a few dozen times followed by the actual conversation with them.

So, I avoid bringing things up entirely and have become very good at just telling my parents the stuff they need to know on a need to know basis. They feel very cut out of the loop by this. I get that. It's my fault and a deserved criticism. I have done it as a way to protect myself from the weight and shame of being utterly disappointing. I also try to present everything as a complete and neat package so that I'm ready to field the upset and angry questions with all of the answers.

I'm too organized and too scared go in without every angle set, but that's what they don't like.

It's hard to know what to do about it. Really hard. But, I'm thinking about it and trying to figure something out.

it hurts so bad sometimes

My sister just told me that right after I left for college my brother used to tell her that she needed to make sure she went to the gym so she didn't end up like Mallory. By like Mallory he meant fat. Kirby was a pudgy little kid. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't skinny. Puberty, sweat, and pressure from a lot of people did what most of us would call wonderful things to her body. I think she's stunning. I also know that while I'm biased on that, it's also the absolute truth. She worked hard and the extra inches she gained in the height department I'm consistently jealous of worked WONDERS. Kirby is beautiful on the inside and the outside.

I find it ironic that I'm crying as I write this post considering how I celebrated a small accomplishment diametrically opposed to this conversation in my post yesterday. I also find it especially heartbreaking and hurtful considering that after Michael came back from his awful study abroad experience in China with an extra fifty-ish pounds packed on his body, I was the one to defend him to a lot of people. I've spent years on the receiving end of those god-awful comments. I would not wish that experience on anyone, including my (occasional) jerk of a brother, and yet that is clearly not a two way street.

I know I'm not perfect, but I am a good person. I work hard, love big, am loyal to a fault, and so sincerely enjoy being my friends' biggest cheerleader, but I'm the person my own sister is warned away from being similar to. I am the person she needed to watch herself around so she didn't end up like me.

You know, because what I've got is contagious. And, because we all know that being a fat person is clearly a worse fate than being a bad person. Clearly.

And the people who know me wonder why I'm in therapy...? Some days are good days, and some days just really suck.

productivity

I'm being uber productive right now. Not.

We're watching a film in class, and I'm writing this post. I don't typically do this...at least not in this master's program. I enjoy my classes. Massively. I think I'm lucky in that respect. I find them relevant, engaging, important. They mean a lot to me. What I am learning means a lot to me. The students I want to work with mean a lot to me.

I'm trying to figure out where I am headed in the long run and even still, a year from now. I have an extreme dislike for ambiguity and the unknown. I like having a plan and sticking to the plan. I don't always have to stay with the plan if something else comes up, but I am a fan of a good list, setting goals, making a plan and using it.

I can be a bit of a control freak. 

I know, shocking. I'm working on it.

As a back up to changing my entire personality, I'm working on a plan. Where am I applying for jobs? I graduate in May of next year. I want to work at OU so badly. I also recognize that I am coming from a really cool program where a big chunk of the people in the program would also like to work here full time. Reason stands that it's just not a possibility for all of the recent grads from OU to work at OU. So, I need to look beyond the beauty of Norman and my beloved Crimson and Cream. Dang thinking like a grown up. 

I also need to figure out if I am going to pursue a PhD at some point. I've already taken the GRE. Twice. I scored pretty well both times (better the second). Those scores "last" for 5 years. I took it fall of 2011, so I have until fall of 2016 to use those scores without needing to retake it. I have no desire to retake that test. It's gross. This is keeping in mind that I don't finish this program until May of 2014. I plan to work for a year or two before doing the application process over again. Otherwise my dad may disown me, or at least threaten to. 

So, I've got a bit of a time line to when I apply if I decide that's what I want. In that, I also need to figure out what I want to research (because that's what you do in a PhD) and what program I want to apply to. Maybe I apply to multiple programs at different schools in different areas. Do I pursue a doctorate in higher education and student affairs like I'm currently studying and love? Do I look into trying for a PhD in counseling psychology? Do I dare try again for the clinical psychology PhD? I mean, I've only already applied twice to those programs with no success. I don't know. I don't have an answer. 

But, that's the problem with my desire to have it all planned out, isn't it? Yes, it probably is. 

a not so small life problem

Ever have one of those days where the things that happen are clearly hilarious as long as it's not happening to you? Yeah, me too. 

So, I have, um, a rather large chest. I've been busty since I was 15 or so. They magically appeared. This was something of a surprise to me. My mom is not chesty in the slightest. Far from it. She's actually very petite on her upper body in general. She is your classic pear shape. I understand that your chest size is supposedly tied to your dad's mom's chest. I have not stared down either of my grandmothers' chests and have no intention of changing that any time soon. I just know that I have more than enough love to go around in that department. 

Considering that I'm still significantly over weight, this isn't a surprising fact. I look pretty proportionate in regular clothes. If I wear anything remotely low cut, I look RIDICULOUS. I'm talking boobs for days, people. I wore square necked shirt on my 24th birthday to go out with friends to celebrate. My mom told me I looked that a tramp right before I left the house in front of a few of my friends. It was encouraging, as I'm sure you can imagine. It's also the first time my parents have ever referred to me as anything remotely like that considering I dress pretty modestly in general. This is also funny because my mom was a total sorostitute and my dad a fratdaddy. My sister isn't overly modest, and they certainly have NO issues with that. I just don't often show them off. It can be a lot. 

I have to be careful when taking pictures because otherwise all you see is my massive chest. 

These are two examples of what I'm talking about...

This has been part of my life for ten years, so it's nothing new or surprising. Things hit an all-time level of WTF in the past few weeks though while performing a certain activity - you guessed it, running. Now, good bras are an absolute where I am concerned. There is no avoiding the necessity and sports bras are no exception. I'm ok with that. I also anticipate some movement when working out. Unless I'm holding on to them, I can't help it.   I have consistently had no issues on the elliptical with these sports bras. So, I wasn't concerned when I bumped up to running on the treadmill. Epic Fail.

Apparently, my older sports bras were just worn out because I came ALL THE WAY out of the top of a couple of them. As in, out of the neckline of my sports bra, moving up and down with a higher vertical jump than I have in real life, almost hit me on the chin while I was running at the gym, all the way out of my sports bra. This has happened three times with three different bras of varying ages. 

You may be wondering how it's humanly possible not to notice your boobs coming out the top of your bra... I didn't feel the bra sliding down or anything. I don't know why, but I just didn't.  I did, however, noticed more movement that norman and looked down. That's when I almost was hit in the face. I realized what happened at that point, but I was mid run, so I didn't think I could do anything about it without slowing to a walk. I tucked my arms against my chest, finished out my last 30 seconds, slowed to my walk and then tried to inconspicuously pull my bra back in place (the gym was packed and I felt sooooo awkward). 

I then texted my mom and sister, laughed at myself and my awkward boobs, and then finished my workout with at least one arm trying to keep them somewhat still. Hah. What can I say, such is life. I suppose that I should just keep a smile on my face and be excited about the brand new sports bras I got to go buy :). 

Can anyone else relate? Anyone else have an equally awkward moment? 

VDay bummer, awesome, and not VDay, BDay!

I've mentioned before that Drew lives in the United Kingdom. We met when I was over there to do school. Yes, he has a fabulous accent. I love it.

There are times that long distance isn't horrific. I honestly believe a couple can make long distance work if they are both honest, truly committed, and willing to sacrifice. I'd say that Drew and I do all of that. We work really hard to make it work. We see each other via skype almost daily, if not a time or two a day. We also email regularly to keep up with each other since we can't call or text like other couples do.

All that said, it's hard to go to events by by myself because I'm with someone. I adore that someone, so it's worth it, but it's hard. It's hard that we get to see each other four times a year. We're moving toward marriage and rectifying all of this, but for now, we do the long distance relationship, and days like Valentine's Day are hard.

We decided to mail handwritten cards this year and celebrate when he's here to visit in March. I'm so looking forward to March. It will be here sooner than I think, but until then, we're on our own for VDay and it kind of sucks.

                                                                          

On another, awesome, excellent and totally related note: Today we held the One Billion Rising event we planned in connection with this year's Vagina Monologues. If you don't know about OBR, you definitely need to check it out. The goal is to end violence against women all over the world. 1 in 3 women will be raped, beaten or murdered in her life time. In my family of five... that means statistically that either me, Kirby, or my mom will experience one of those atrocities. Pretty awful huh? Join us in DANCING to raise awareness and to stop the violence today.

I rise because I don't want to watch another person in my life - my sister, my mother, my friends - hurt by violence. Rise up, DANCE, stop the violence!

                                                                          

To wrap this special VDay post up, I'm going to end with a special message for my younger brother:

Happy 23rd Birthday, Michael!