August Angst

August is here.

That means we are but a few days away from THE day. God in his sovereignty knew that I was incapable of sharing the spotlight with any amount of grace or decorum and thus allowed for my arrival into this world to take place during the only month in which no formal holidays are celebrated—at least in the Americas—well, at least in the United States of America where I have spent most of my birthdays.
And of course some skeptic who is reading will feel compelled to run through each and every month to confirm that what I am saying is accurate and I just have 2 things to say to you:

1. Seek some counseling you have trust issues
2. Yes I am including no-day off from school type holidays like St. Pattys day. (I don’t want people thinking about Ireland when they could be spending those energies penning out their words of affirmation toward me.)

But, if you haven’t heard, August –even for someone as birthday-centric as myself- can be angsty. It means another year has rolled by and my left ring finger and womb both remain suspiciously empty. This realization often provokes a full day of intermittent sitcom watching and shower crying while Kasey Chamber's Not Pretty Enough plays in the background on repeat. But today as I felt the birthday blues attempt to buzz-kill me, I decided, for your benefit as much as mine, to swim through the self-loathing and into something more hilarious.

So, last year having arbitrarily deemed it “the year of the man”, I decided to celebrate my uninterrupted birthday month by calling upon friends and family to set me up with various pre-approved gentlemen in what I saw as a very mature effort toward angst-prevention. It was a hilarious and mildly successful experiment because when push comes to shove, I consider 4 free dinners and a movie or 2 a mild success. I am an optimist thank you very much!

I went on 4 dates with three gentlemen and came out on the other side with zero love connections but lots of advice. And I figured, if by any chance these musings somehow come to sit in front of some struggling single gentleman looking for a few wooing tips, then I could be of service. And therefore the next couple of posts are your August birthday gifts from me !

Dating Tips for Gentlemen as collected in Year of the Man Experiment ’09.

Tip number one comes from date number one. Date number one was with:

The Architect

The architect was a cutie. Skinny, Bieber-y hair, a hint of a southern drawl, no problems there. He also loved art and planned one of the better dates of my life including perusing a folk art fair, sharing a delicious lunch and the all-time-best art exhibit I have ever experienced. Still smooth sailing, right? Here was the problem with the architect and I can tell you right now, you aren’t going to like it. You are going to say I am too picky and deserve to live a miserable solitary existence in which the burden of planning my own birthday celebrations will always remain on me. I don’t care. I feel strongly about this issue. I can’t help myself.

The problem with the architect was that he was punny. Not in the ironic, isn’t this so stupid that we as vivacious twenty-somethings are using such a childish and simultaneously geriatric form of communication, kind of way. But rather in the, “yeah back in college all of us guys used to call it ArchiTORTURE” and now he is in a fit of laughter at his own simple wordplay, kind of way. It wasn’t good guys. It was not good.

So, my tip for all you would-be-casanovas out there is this: If puns are a big part of who you are don’t set them aside to get the girl only to unleash your dirty little secret during the first year of marriage—that would be unkind and plus there is a segment of the female population out there who love a good pastor-style sense of humor—you guys are meant for one another. But if, on the other hand, you have no real legacy or commitment to punning but use it as an ice-breaker on dates from time to time--

Here is tip # 1. Do not use puns as an ice-breaker on first dates. Puns are goofy things shared with family members who already know your full-range of comedic potential, but your date has no such access to your humor resume. When I hear you use a phrase like “architorture” without then making fun of your own lameness I am left to assume that this as good as it is going to get with you, and I don’t think either of us wants that.Would I have gone on a second date with the architect had he been so inclined? Probably so, but with ample reservation.

Then again, as it stands he is probably writing a blog right now to ladies explaining why licking your plate clean on a first date might send an ill-advised message, so in the end it looks like we are even stevens, but this isn’t about punny Jo it is about me managing my own august angst and it is about you. And if you will take this little piece of advice I think you will find it keeps you from a little something I like to call a DATEsaster. (You see what I did there?)

Coming up on August Angst:
Tip 2 as learned on my dates with the Musician.
Tip 3 as learned on my date with the Oh My God I can’t remember what he did for a living because he was that boring!!!
Tip 4 as learned on the date I never got with the Holy Roller.

Tellers, Keepers and Accidental Peepers

The other day I went to sign a contract for a consulting job in a bustling office down town. I had never been there before, never spoken with anyone there, never played bridge with any of them or anything else that could be considered mildy bond-forming.

In ten minutes time I heard about:
The death of one woman's sister which had taken place a year before and left her feeling lonely in the world,

The life-threatening surgery that had taken one of the administrative assistants out of the office for an as yet undetermined length of time,

And, for reasons that remain unclear I was offered an alarming amount of information about the first orgasmic experience of one of the employees passing through the cubicle row where I stood innocently awaiting a final copy of my work agreement.

Does this happen to other people, or am I alone in illiciting such ill-earned glimpses into peopl's lives?!?!

It certainly isn't a complaint, just a query. Made me think of a poem I wrote a while back and since I have been slow to post as of late I thought I'd slap it up here and celebrate a rare occasion of two posts in one day--nay hour!

Storykeeper

I used to be promiscuous with my stories,
telling them to anyone who would hear.
I know better now.
You can go back to their apartments for the jewelry
and the drugs,
and for your half of the movie collection.
But, you can never get your secrets back from someone like that.
So they walk around each day,
carrying your frozen footage,
and brag that they know you—which is only one version of the truth.
So now I am a waiter—
a pusher-awayer—
a quiet, persistent delay of gamer.
Now, that I am older and smarter and wiser,
Now, I am a story-keeper.

Capturing Characters

Note: This was written months ago, revised and I thought posted a week ago and now finally making it to screen.

So, a girl walks into a coffee shop. That girl is me. I meet another girl. She is gorgeous. She is talking with a fellow caffeine-drinking acquaintance about the Twilight series but he is unfamiliar so I wriggle my way into the conversation, true to my baby-child roots. It just so happens that I was persuaded last evening to join Laura and her family at the new Eclipse movie, so today, I have the opportunity, I have an opinion and I swoop in.

“Did you go see the new movie last night?” I asked. She had not. I told her it was creative, better than the others and a tad risqué which she liked. We went our separate ways, I to my computer bar and she 3 feet away at hers. Now, because I am, in fact, the youngest , I have excellent and time-tested eavesdropping skills. So, when I heard the woman’s friend ask “Is she (he gestured at me) “your first stranger of the day”, I felt an “old-school” exhilaration come over me. Not only had I heard their conversation, but they were talking about me!!!

A brief inquiry and I found out that she too was on a new blog adventure. She is meeting new people (one per day), writing about them and currently she is needing to know what to call me, because, “how could I not write about someone with such a beautiful smile?” I tell her my name and her friend smirks because, I happen to have a rather famous one. Then he asks me a lovely question: “Has it been mostly good or mostly bad living with that name?” I smile. It has been mostly good I say, thinking of all the cute boys who have lingered with me just a moment longer because they have an enduring junior-high crush on my celebrity namesake.

Enter cute boy who has a crush on said namesake. Gorgeous woman’s friend introduces me to the new guy who upon hearing my name, not only gets the shakes, but tells me that if I dress as the other Kerri he will let me into a show that he is doing for free. This sounds creepy as I type it out, but trust me he was just a nice kid doubly struck by my own beauty and the memory of my name- sharer in her younger days.

“This all must be great fodder for this writer woman”, I am thinking to myself excitedly. I loved that she was watching my every interaction as though I was the star of my own reality show. (Did I mention that I am a youngest born?) But all attention-whoring aside, I was impressed with this lady having committed to this character-capturing endeavor –just as any good writer needs to do. And just like any good neurotic writer would do, I was counting down the minutes until she finished typing and I could see how she would present me to the world.

Would I be described as pretty? Witty? Charming? Needy, Intimidating, gag-inducing? After what seemed like an eternity, she stopped typing and it was clear that her work was done. Looking at her website my worst fears were realized. She didn’t call me fat or dull or slovenly. She did not call me anything at all.
That little trollop skipped me. I was her character of the day and she had absolutely nothing to say about me. And I know that in the other ways the day was marvelous. After all, I had gotten offered free tickets as you’ll remember—just so long as I show up to an event that I have never heard of, in the previously agreed upon fantasy outfit. There is nothing fishy there, right? All on the up and up?

Nevermind, though. The horror of being passed over is always going to trump the flattery of a perfect stranger asking you to role-play for them at a public event. I think that is a generally agreed upon principal, right?

But guess what, the joke is on that gorgeous girl because I have my own blog and it is a place where everybody knows my name! You all would write about me if I was your stranger of the day, wouldn't you? Maybe if I dressed up as that other Kerri?

Book it!

2 weeks and it feels like I outta come back with a bang. Unfortunately, despite two weeks of funeral attending, baby welcoming, mission tripping, niece toting and other fodder-filled endeavors, I am sitting here exhausted and unsure that I can come through with any significant amounts of hilarity or profundity on this particular night of writing.
But I miss this little forum and the whole point of doing a blog like this was to practice communication even when there is nothing immediately witty to say…so instead of holding out for the perfect return post sure to leave each of you in a state of dehydration (what with the tears streaming down your face and the humor-induced pee-a-streamin’), I have decided to throw another list your way— I’m calling it, Please read at least one of these books this summer if you haven’t or haven’t in a while. I am sure that by Sunday I will be back into the rhythm of rocking your worlds with my words, but until them I hope that you will start developing relationships with other authors out there, like the ones who wrote these:

With Regard to Singleness
• He’s Just Not that Into You: I know this could not be more cliché, but this book is hilarious (though repetitive) and honest (it hurts so good).
• Committed: This is the same author who wrote Eat, Pray, Love…I believe that should be enough of an endorsement if you read that one however if it isn’t you should know that this is a book that is all about marriage and yet somehow made me even more pleased with this whole nun-like situation I got going on here.
With Regard to Spirituality:
• The tale of the three Trees: This is a children’s book. Most of us need a good children’s book from time to time, and I this is mine for this particular juncture in life. Check it out!
• Orthodoxy: I keep finding out how many people have not read this book and its killing me. He is the Donald Miller of the 50’s (or whatever time period he wrote in) people! And if you don’t know who Donald Miller is, well he is the G.K. Chesterton of the 200’s, people—go out and start reading!

With Regard to Writing
• On Writing: I have never read a novel by Stephen King. Not into gore, and I used to think someone who produced books as quickly as he did must be a trash writer who was in it for the money. If you are still trapped in this way of thinking, please read this book. It is one of my all-time favorite memoirs. I just re-read it which should tell you something because I am of the mind that there are too many books to go around knocking on the doors of all your old (literary) flames. But with Stephen, I had to see him another time, I had to remember and relive what we had together before, and I do not doubt that in time I will go back for thirds!

Now, do you have any reading demands for me? I probably won't get to them 'til 2012 or so, but I do like to know where I am headed!

Lost and Found

A couple of summers ago I was in my car, stopped at a red light, when a homeless man started eyeing me through the windshield. I groaned because my soul has yet to find a way to deal with the stress of homelessness. I feel condescending when I hand out 50 cents from my cup-holder. I feel Jesusless when I pretend not to see another human life pleading with me. I feel generally sad about this whole mess of a world where so many are overlooked.

So, on this occasion I rolled down my window to hear the request of this gentlemen only to find out that he hadn’t one. Instead, he was hurriedly trying to make me aware of a note that had been lodged underneath my windshield wiper. I got out and apprehended the note thanking my stranger-friend for his generosity toward me. The note read:

We found your IPOD on the ground
Please call us at 624-XXXX.

When I arrived at the couples house, just a few doors down from my own, they were apologetic saying that they had knocked on my door and tried to email me through my school list-serv, but nothing had worked until now. I laughed, thanked them and left quickly, but I keep that note in my desk drawer as a little reminder of their kindness.

Thinking back, I probably should have been more surprised at their generosity, except it seems that my belongings have always had guardian angels. Some people can boast surviving deathly tidal waves or car crashes and I mean to take nothing from them. It just happens that the angels assigned to me are very concerned with material things and have focused most of their attention in this realm of security.

Last night was no different. Topher Grace and I were standing around in a parking lot talking about God’s providence when his phone buzzed.” You’re calling me,” he said, and I politely disagreed. As it turns out Hal was calling him. Hal picked up my cell after it fell out of my pocket during an ice-cube war I was having with friends earlier that evening. Hal told Topher to have me call him the next day and he would bring me my phone. I wondered out loud why this man would have chosen to call Topher of all people. "Well, I texted you tonight when we got here," Toph said, so I was probably the last text on your phone. This was hilarious news to me since the previous-to-last text I got from Topher was probably 2 months ago and the last time he and I hung out alone together was probably never. What luck, huh?

Can something this inconsequential be attributed to divine providence?
I really don’t know.

But I know that this eerie inability I have to lose things, speaks to me. It allows me to live freely and without fear because someone out there, be it God or man, is always looking out for me. When I finally got home last night I realized that Topher wasn’t the only one who received a call from Hal. Liv and Collin had driven over to my house at 10:30 at night to leave a note for me about my phone, fearful that an email might not be enough.

Liv had to work at 4:30 in the morning and could have benefited from going to bed early, but she was complelled in the moment of decision, to choose my luxury over her need. That is goodness. And I believe that such goodness has a source. And that source is near to me and to Hal and even to the helpful homeless man that I don’t quite know that to do with. And this source has created and situated all of us in time and space in such a way so that we may “seek him and perhaps grasp for him and even find him, though he is not far from each of us.” I hope today is a day of finding and being found for each of you and may your personal property angels be always as diligent as mine.

P.S. In a Bonus God move, the returner of my phone was quite a handssome fellow. Drove a truck, had a dog, made me want to chunk my phone in the back of his pickup just so he could bring it to me again.

P.P.S. I will be out of town on a church trip this week, so no posts for a while. I can hear the sobs of all 8 of you now.

Fourth of July-- New York

Soooooo, even though I meant to just slap up another old poem in preparation for our upcoming national day-o-celebration, I ended up writing a whole post today. Thought it was funny and interesting, got home after letting all the creative juices really steep only to find that what I'd written never really came together in any sort of delicious medley of flavors.

I guess that means that those of you who were hoping againgst hope for a little ode to the US of A will have your wish granted today. Let's call it the cherry atop the cupcake of freedom you've been snacking on all these years. Wrote this one when I was 20 years old and interning at a Multi-Cultural Church Plant in NYC. If you don't like it, I am guessing it is because you are an illiterate terrorist.

Red shirts, mini skirts,
halter tops, incessant pops,
bottled water,
only a dollar,
breathmints and sentiment,
summer breeze sweetly kissing the skin,
quiet joy and unresolved sin.
Barricades and lemonade,
baseball caps, bad raps,
starless sky,
the time of their lives,
vibrant children, young women, old men,
year after year, stand together again.

Love is in the Air

sin
Can we all just agree that airplanes should be segregated? Not in the everybody move to duh back of duh bus, kind of way, but more in the happily married to the right and searching singles to the left-- please do not forget your complimentary glass-o-wine -- kind of way. I mean would it really be so hard, to add a simple checkbox to the ticket purchasing paperwork? I am looking at you American Airlines. Check out the sample below:

Yes, I would like to participate in a wholesome mid-air mixer with my fellow travelers of the world. It only makes sense and life is short so why not?

Yes, I would like to participate in a mid-air mixer but my wife has frowned upon the idea.

No, I do not prefer to meet anyone interesting during this particular flight even though I am caged up with these people anyway and in the case of lightning strike they will become my companions in death, but no thanks I’ll just sit here reading my comic book and leaning my seat all the way back as I am sure no one around me will desire any leg space whatsoever over the course of the next 3 hours until we land and I finally get home to my hermit crabs and PSP.

See, isn’t that simple? And its possible you could even cut an unnecessary word or phrase here and there if needed. All I am saying is, it is starting to feel outright wasteful l when I get to the airport, scout out three or four handsome twenty-somethings and then inevitably get seated next to two homely women reading romance novels, within devastating view of the dark-haired guy reading Blue Like Jazz. What gives?

I mean the other day I saw an add for speed-dating, but who really has the energy or moxy to sign up for something as new and risky as that? On the other hand, for a lover of efficiency (which I am not, but take a long meandering walk with me on this subject anyway) airplane dating is just a sensible and concurrent solution to two enduring problems: in-flight boredom/anxiety and a regrettable amount of experience playing solitaire.

What can we do to realize this dream? In the hands of the right marketer I think it could boost and dare-I-say revolutionize the airline industry. So write your representatives, senators and friends in the biz until we see this change because , until that time all we really have on our side are prayers of providence. That said, I happen to be boarding a plane around 9:45 tomorrow morning. Intercession Welcome!