I Need Some Unicorn Magic In My Life - AGAD

It's no secret that things in my life lately haven't been magical (well, with the exception of #BiSC last week). Un-magical in the sense I'm not securing any new clients or book deals, I'm not on some ridiculously insane schedule to help my productivity, I'm not even going to church regularly anymore or eating a semi-normal diet.

Well all that's about to change - I need some unicorn magic in my life, so I got to thinking (while currently on ambien, yes) - I'm going to start A Goal A Day (which I'll lovingly and annoyingly refer to as AGAD).

It's quite simple - to help me get better on track as to the person I know I can and should be, I'm going to set a goal aside each night that I will tackle the next day. Said goals can range anywhere from an intense workout, writing an article, pitching a new editor or publisher, eating healthy all day, cleaning my house, updating my resume, running errands, updating Charity Chicks Houston, sending out snail mail cards to loved ones or long overdue thank you cards - whatever I think it is that needs some positive influence and motivation in my life. Goals are good to have yes, so why not make one a day? Rather than some lengthy and editorial like to-do list, just AGAD to get me acclimated to using my time and my brain cells in a more efficient manner.

What do you think? What other daily goals should I add to this list?Should I devote an entire day to still trying to teach myself how to dougie?

My first goal for tomorrow, Memorial Day, is to have an insane workout. I really need it to clear my head out. I'm talking running up and down my parking garage and the stairs for 45 minutes. In 95 degree weather. Then head to the gym and do pushups until my arms fall off. Also, to start off a bit overzealous like I typically do, my second goal of the day is to remind people what Memorial Day is - because as we all should know, it's much more than an excuse to BBQ and run around in bikinis.

So leave me a comment on one of two things: first, what easy and attainable goals can I add to my rotating list (remember, there are 365 days/year, so I need more things to work on), and secondly, what does Memorial Day mean to YOU?

.jl.

40 days and 40 nights...

of honest to goodness change. No, I'm not Catholic, but I believe in making changes for the better, so I've always been an avid participant of Lent.

Last year I gave up sex and cupcakes and I thought I made it through the entire 40 days until a guy "friend" of mine reminded me that we had cupcakes just moments after sex only a few weeks before Easter, so once again I failed. Challenges. Bring. It. On.

I'm not so good with New Year's Resolutions, but something about the 40 days and nights of Lent (probably because even Ashton Kutcher once did it), I think it semi manageable, even for someone like me.

So here goes what I'm giving up/or taking on this year for Lent:

1. As a sportswriter at The Blonde Side, I'm constantly surrounded by amazingly in shape women and athletes and their wives. I'm always Googling running methods or the psychology behind good solid running, so why not, on top of everything else, make a vow to run everyday for all 40 days. Rain or shine, I will run (even if on a treadmill, and yes, even the day after my next half marathon in March). I make a promise that I will run no less than 2 miles a day (to make it worth the sweat I'll inevitably put in), so that's AT LEAST 80 miles I'll run over the next 40 days. Starting at 8:30am with my friend Avery tomorrow. Bring It.

2. Lent is always a good excuse to give up a bad habit. Being a southern girl and living in Texas, sweet tea, or tea in general is my thing. For the next 40 days, no soda, no tea, no sweet tea. Hopefully this will also help with my aqua consumption. We shall see.

3. As a freelance writer, working for myself (which means my home is my office), I've gotten used to sleeping in. This is a weird one, because even for an insomniac, I've been known to sleep in. So my third and final thing for Lent this year is giving up sleeping in. I will not (no matter what time I go to sleep, or if i I go to sleep at all), sleep in past 9am on weekdays or later than 10am on weekends. This might sound lame to those of you 10hour a night sleepers, but for me, this will most definitely be a challenge.

.jl.

Not Your Typical Valentine's Day Gift

I get it - nothing about my life is normal. Ever. Not even close.

This Valentine's Day as I geared up to "Boycott the World" for the Hallmark holiday I have come to know and hate, my doorbell rang. When your doorbell rings on Valentine's Day (for those of you other self-employed folk), you know there's probably a surprise in store on the other side. Oh hello understatement.

Not in the form of beautiful red roses or a sweet handwritten note which one might think on such a day, but instead, in the form of a book.

From my ex.

The ex from over two years ago.

A package with the book, "Why We Broke Up" showed up in a FedEx box on my doorstep with the following note scribbled on his office letterhead:

Jayme,

I know you hate Valentine's Day, but I thought this might be a good time to give this to you. After I ended things, you kept asking why we broke up and what went wrong. I knew you were heartbroken, but I couldn't find the words at the time.

Mike* told me you recently joined Match.com. He said your FB posts were hilarious, as I'm sure they were knowing you. He also said he didn't understand why a pretty, outgoing and avid sportsfan like yourself was single. I didn't want to say anything to him, but thought I should to you. I heard about this book (don't ask how, but I did) and took the liberty of highlighting some points about why you and I didn't work. Maybe this will help for your search in love. On Match or wherever else you decide to look for it.

You'll always have a special place in my heart. Take care and enjoy the book. Best of luck. And no hard feelings, k?

LYA [stands for love you always - sweet right?]

As you'll see from the picture above, said ex douche actually took the liberty of putting tabs on certain pages. I did some research on this book and how he ran across a book in the Young Adult Literature section at Barnes and Noble is well beyond me. It's apparently a book about a couple that is going through a breakup, narrating their relationship along the way. They take turns reminiscing about old times, citing reasons for the ending. It's actually quite alarming how he came across such a book, but I guess that isn't the point. Hmm, I wonder if he highlighted somewhere that I try and dissect too much information?

And the pages he notated for my reading pleasure? Since the book is all about memories, one of the pages he highlighted was about a dinner the couple went out to. It cited that she ate too much for a girl. He made his own note, "Luckily you work out, but this can scare guys. Especially when we think long term, meaning metabolism goes..."

Another memory of the couple was how she'd always take his clothes and wear them to sleep in. The note that accompanied that tab? "Jayme, girls are supposed to go to bed in sexy lingerie, not my UT mesh shorts that come past your knees."

Oh, so that's why we broke up? I didn't want to go to sleep with bacteria infested thongs that spelled his name in bedazzled jewels? How the hell did I not know this was a deal breaker?

Another tab was about how I dwell on things too much and don't let arguments pass.

My argument to that (which has and always will be) that if you don't TALK about the problem and address it properly, YES, I will continue to rehash the issue, because it remains just that, AN ISSUE. Simple communication would have fixed that, but alas, I don't have a book that I can mark up and send to him, now do I?

Oh and the final Happy Flippin' Valentine's Day kicker for me? After getting the "package", I headed out to the grocery store for a bottle of Prosecco to help ease the pain so I could continue reading each tab carefully through the tears. Pulled into my garage, opened the door to grab the bottle practically foaming at the mouth for a drink and wouldn't you know it tumbled out and smashed right on the ground. All over my brand new running shoes. Awesome, yes?

Crying over spilled milk? Not so much. Crying over chilled champagne however? Cry, cry like a baby is exactly what I did.

So Happy Valentine's Day to all of you. I can't wait for this day to be over. The countdown is on. T-minus some number of hours. I was never good with math anyways. Luckily I had a backup bottle of champagne to fill in.

But in all honesty, book aside, today wasn't so bad. I got flowers from an amazing guy (one who doesn't want a relationship or anything to do with me), but that's besides the point. I think. Or at least not needed for this post. I also ran my regular Tuesday 5k with Avery and BON Running Club and finished up a new article for my Culture Map column on Astros 3B, Chris Johnson. So yeah, not a complete waste of a day :)

[Note, as depressingly hilarious as today may have been for you and even myself, it could never have been worse than last year, which even I can't bring myself to blog about. So there's, that.]

.jl.

my match.com profile

In the world of Match.com, it's probably a huge no-no (perhaps even illegal?) to post excerpts from emails and winks to your FB page. But my friends really get a kick out of this nonsense, and quite frankly, so do I. I mean so far I'm not getting much else out of it, so why not?

I promise I joined match for the right reasons. But for now, it just feels SO right to talk about this stuff. I mean, the body builder who looks as if he dipped his 5'6 body into Snooki juice? C'mon people - that is Grade A material for a snark infested blogger like myself.

Anyways, after a few posts (and photos) on FB, a few friends emailed dying to know what the hell my profile says. So in all fairness, since I've been judging others and their feeble online pickup attempts (granted, it is hard to do), I'm now opening the flood gates to get made fun of myself - on FB, Twitter and now this here blog. So read it and weep. Or something like that.
__________________________________

"I've got a theory that if you give 100% all of the time, somehow things will work out in the end." - Larry Bird

I just turned 30, but that truly has nothing to do with why I'm here. I'm not a cougar, my biological clock isn't going off, I'm simply looking to meet a nice guy; one who doesn't wear Ed Hardy or skinny jeans. A guy that's sweet, patient and can handle my love and obsession for sports. Seriously, before you say that's your dream girl, realize I may know more than you about your favorite player.

If you're the kind of guy that MUST go out on Washington each and every weekend night, let's be clear - you're probably not the guy for me. I like to travel, am extremely active and love using my sarcasm to its fullest potential.

Also, odds are if your profile picture is you without your shirt, I will probably make fun of you. I simply can't help myself. Consider yourselves warned. I'm not topless in my pictures, so why are you?

A few other less than notable characteristics: I am terrified of stairs (walking up and down them), I am a violent sneezer and the hiccups annoy me to no end. I know they say "don't sweat the small stuff", but my hiccups come at the most inopportune times, and I'd hardly call that "small stuff." I'm also highly addicted to chapstick and my lack of memory has become a medical mystery to many. Pumping gas gives me anxiety because I know there's so much more valuable stuff I could be doing with that time (and money) - I drive an SUV so it is especially time consuming. Last but not least, the simple act of driving past an Applebees or Olive Garden will make me vomit each and every time.

Amendment #1 - Perhaps talking about sports above was a bad idea - I signed up for Match in hopes of meeting a nice guy, not to find a new sport's trivia partner. Head over to ESPN for that - it's free.

Amendment #2 - I get that we all signed up for this online dating thing, but after a few emails let's just be big kids and step away from the computer. I spend ALL day on the computer, so chatting with boys online just feels slightly SVU'ish, ya know? I'm not Meg Ryan and odds are you're not Tom Hanks, so this You've Got Mail seems slightly overrated, yes?

My apologies if the above seems highly negative or that I'm listing everything I don't want, but you've got to start somewhere. I'm a firm believer in full disclosure so I don't think my dating profile should reflect any different. Last but certainly not least, I need a guy who is patient. Mostly because I'm an only child and you can read into that what you will. Patience is not simply a virtue in any potential relationship, it's a downright must.__________________________________

.jl.

Children Aren’t The Only Screaming Humans On Planes.

For someone who travels for a living, there's something about an airplane that almost always seems to get me in trouble. Usually it's the airline and their excessive delays or overabundance of miscellaneous charges, but today, trouble came in the form of the woman in acid wash jeans sitting next to me on my flight to LA.

You may have noticed on Twitter just before I took off, I posted a picture of the woman next to me. She was probably 40-50 and wearing a hot pink HUGE beach hat on the plane. I knew I was in for quite the 4-hour adventure as soon as I sat down and the hat was resting on my earlobe. Luckily, after about 20 minutes (without me saying a word), she placed the hat in the overhead bin and we went on our merry way 30,000 feet in the sky.

About 45 minutes into the flight, the man in the row in front of me was snoring excessively loud. I mean, L.O.U.D.

People all around were rolling their eyes or cranking up their music on their iPods to drown it out. After about 15 minutes of me trying to do work on my laptop (with headphones mind you), I gently reached up and tapped the man on his shoulder. I whispered, “I’m sorry sir, you’re snoring awfully loud.” He kind of smiled and laughed and whispered back that he was sorry and even commented, “oh damn, I’m that guy, huh?” End of story. Or so it should have been.

Now enter the Asian hat woman directly to my left. The one who had already spilled her orange juice in my lap and didn’t even bother to use her very own napkin to help clean it up.

“I thought this was s a free country,” she said in her broken English. “Huh?” I responded.

Hat Woman: (rudely) He was in a deep sleep.

Me: Yes, and I’m deep in work. I’d like to think if my typing or papers got in people’s way or inhibited their flying experience, they too would say something so that I could make their flight as pleasant as possible as well.

Hat Woman: This is supposed to be a free country.

Me: (blood pressure rising) Yes, as a citizen who was born and raised here and spent all 30 years of her life here, I can attest to that. I’m well aware of what our country is. He has the right to snore, and I have the right to ask him politely to stop. Simple as that.

Hat Woman: This is why I hate your country.

Me: Oh, REALLY? Would you like me to push the call button and get you the fuck off this plane? I’m happy to do so.

Hat Woman: You are a lady.

Me: Yes, thank you for noticing. Was it my c-cup bra size that gave it away, my shaved legs or the vagina underneath my dress that gave that away?

Needless to say, the remaining 2.5 hours of the flight was quite hysterical, at least for me. The entire plane had joined in and overheard our conversation, because one like this tends to get a little aggressive on my end. Even shortly after, snoring man himself told the woman to shut up and go back to her country.

What is it about airplanes?

Am I that much of an aggressive individual or is it simply the fact that spending $400 to sit next to blubbering idiots for hours in such tight quarters that doesn’t bode well for me? Either way, I don’t need a visitor in my country, trying to tell me what America is supposed to be about. You may have read that on those crazy internets or perhaps a history book decades ago, but I live it. I think I’m more suited to know all about the freedom this here country offers.

Editor Note #1: I did in fact speak with snoring man leaving the plane to apologize if he found my comments rude. He didn't.

Editor Note #2: This blog was written in LARGE font during the entire duration of the flight. If that woman can read English, then she saw everything I was writing. Yes, that was planned.

.jl.

Dishwashers Piss Me Off.

There's this common misconception about bloggers that all they do is whine and vent and bitch to whoever will listen. That's not really what I do, but today I am. (Note, I do run other professional websites where I write not blog.)

But it's my blog and I'll vent if I want to. Even about a damn dishwasher.

I'm the kind of girl who puts a lot of stock in milestones, especially when it comes to dates (as in the calendar kind, not the kind I don't seem to get asked out on anymore). I've been in Houston for 5.5 years now - the longest I've stayed anywhere, and with that unprecedented tenure, I feel an uncomfortable itch to move (don't worry mom, not that kind of itch).

I knew I'd be getting a note from my townhouse about my lease renewal any day. With that note, I also knew I'd probably get a rent increase. So I left it up in the air - if my complex decides not to up my rent, I'll stay. If they do, I'm out.

Last week I received said letter. They only up'ed it about $60/month (I'm already paying entirely too much for a one bedroom townhouse, but that increase wasn't as much as I've seen at other places). Now that you've been briefed on the background, here's where the venting (er, bitching) comes in.

I went in on January 4th to renew my lease - for FIFTEEN MONTHS. Talk about a huge commitment. I also was dropping off my rent check. Well guess what? I was a day late. And by day, I mean NINE hours. But guess what else? The rent drop box is inside a building that gets locked everyday at 5pm, and I'm a travel writer, which means I'm not here very often. And we just had crazy amounts of holidays which the office was closed for many of. So yeah, I was late. By a few hours. Those few hours cost me $150 (I've yet to pay because I do plan to fight it).

So for 15 months, I've never paid my rent late one time. Not once. I've never shorted the rent, or anything. But in those 15 months, my apartment complex has told me the wrong amount to pay on at least SIX occasions. That's almost half the amount of checks I've written that have been wrong. The reason my rent amount changes is because you have to add on a varying amount for water, which my complex can NEVER get right. It's metered and you get a report - what makes this difficult?

Make that Apartment Complex - FAIL #1.

Before I left to run some errands today, I ran my dishwasher. A few hours ago, being the diligent little adult that I strive to be, I went to empty the dishwasher, assuming they'd be clean. Silly me.

Insert dirty dishes, add detergent, close and an hours later, voila. But no, not here. I have asked them SEVEN times to fix my dish washer and everytime they tell me not to put dishes over this one part so the water can reach all the dishes. Point taken. I make a point to only fill my dishwasher halfway so that it doesn't by any chance possibly block that water spout thingy. But my dishes are STILL dirty. Can you even imagine how much detergent I've wasted in the past 15 months having to do the same load of dishes multiple times? That may not sound like a lot of money, but that stuff adds up. And it's the frustration that really gets me. It's obviously non-working. So here's what I suggest - either FIX MY DISHWASHER or take that amenity off my lease. You consider that an amenity, so it should work. (Note, my air conditioning also broke NINE times during the SUMMER in HOUSTON. Yes, that was fun.)

Make that Apartment Complex - FAIL #2.

Oh and here's another piece of oh so pleasant news. You know, since my apartment complex is SO BIG on paying things on time. I just got an email from our leasing manager that we aren't getting mail anytime soon (you know, the place many companies mail bills, and my clients mail my checks so I can get paid). Seriously, here's a snip-it from the email they sent out on THURSDAY (note, it's now Sunday and still not fixed).

Dear Residents,

It has come to our attention that our mailboxes have been tampered with recently. Unfortunately these things do happen, especially around the holiday season. We have already taken the necessary steps to have the mailboxes repaired by contacting the Post Office directly. Know that until the boxed are repaired, the postman will not place any new mail inside.

Make that Apartment Complex - FAIL #3.

For anyone that made it this far and read this entire post, I applaud you. I'm already well aware that I'm crazy and little things really piss me off. Such is life. At least my life anyways.

(And for those of you wondering why I'd want to stay at a place that makes these dumba$$ mistakes, it's just that I don't have the energy, time, patience or money to move.)

.jl.

This Year Has Taught Me...

A lot.

With another year in the books, I look back at everything I learned in 2011. I can't say with much certainty whether it's been a good year or a bad year, but I'm still here and so are my loved ones. Well, most of them.

So while I ever-so daintily chug my bottle of champagne straight out of the bottle, read along with me at some of the things I learned, most of which, the extremely hard way.

This year has taught me that:

once again, Corporate America is not a fan of mine and vice versa.

online friendships and relationships should never replace the ones in real life.

my creativity is heightened when traveling. and watching or playing sports.

although Facebook is under the impression I have 1500+ friends, the reality is I only have a few. And I'm OK with that.

not having health insurance really puts extracurricular activities in perspective.

I'm too old to have friends with benefits.

college football is the key to most men's hearts. or maybe it's hockey?

grandpas don't live forever. even the most amazing ones.

although his paperwork may claim he's a teacup chihuahua, weighing in at an alarming 23lbs, Denali is no such thing.

I'd rather sit in a sport's bar wearing a baseball cap and flip flops than go clubbing in 4-inch heels.

your heart can be broken by someone you've never met.

dry shampoo can replace washing your hair, but not a shower.

some people are jealous of your life, but that doesn't mean they want in yours.

my skin has thickened by mass amounts simply because it's had to.

Pandora has no clue that Sting and Dave Matthews Band are not the same genre.

asking for forgiveness doesn't mean you'll get it.

knowing how to change a tire is not as overrated as I once thought.

tapping into savings to make your dreams come true isn't all that bad.

So with this post, I bid farewell to 2011. I don't know if I'll miss you or not, but I do know you were one hell of a year for me. A year I didn't know I was capable of having. Now on to the next -- 2012.

.jl.

I guess some things were meant to be...

Tonight, while minding my own business, I received a notification that I had a FB friend request from someone from a past life - college days to be exact. I accepted the request for two reasons - one, we had been so close at one point in our lives it just seemed rude not to and two, to be completely honest, curiosity got the best of me. About him and our "mutual acquaintances."

For anyone that knew me in college, I'm sorry. I'll start with that. My sincere apologies. I was a certified a$$hole. Had there been a salary cap on being the biggest a$$ in all of Northern Virginia, I'd probably have maxed out and still negotiated more on my contract. Aside from losing whatever meager softball career I had left, I dated a jerk. Oftentimes I think about why I'm still single at 29. I'm not saying it's a bad thing or my life is ruined because I'm single, but I think back to all the things that got me to where I am, relationship-wise. I think back to where my trust issues stem from and I'm taken back to the days where he was in my life.

For anyone I've ever dated, I'm sorry. Something else I need to get out of the way. I know I haven't been the easiest person to date. Somehow that's probably in the running for understatement of the year, but I'm sorry and congrats for making it out alive.

My relationship resume probably looks a little like this: I'm pretty sure I doubted every word out of your mouth, thought you were lying about everything under the sun including the color of the sky, thought you were cheating on me with your ex-girlfriend or that skank you met at the bar, didn't believe you when you said your pager ran out of batteries, and worse. There's a reason for that - the first guy I ever really loved (in an adult, I think I can marry you and probably wouldn't abort our baby if we were ever dumb enough to get to that point) did all of that to me. And more. Much more. So needless to say, I'm not so trusting with guys. And it's not just that - I tend to get fixated on an issue and have an impossible time moving past it, and it's definitely hindered more than a few relationships from getting to the next level.

Before you get all crazy on the comments here, I get it - everyone has baggage. Once you reach your late twenties/early thirties, baggage is a prevailing part of the relationshipquation. That's not to say your suitors will all have baby mamas or prenups in the works, but emotional baggage is just as damning, I can assure you.

So back to my distressed and sorrowful college days with this guy. I was a disaster. That was probably when I first developed insomnia. There would be nights he wouldn't come home (while I was asleep in his twin bed upstairs in his parent's house while his little brother slept on the floor beside me, as weird as that may be), there'd be nights he would pocket dial me and I could hear things in the background. There'd be days he'd disappear and no one knew where he was. Not his job, not his family, and certainly not me, "the love of his life". So I'd stay up all night checking my Nokia razor flip phone incessantly waiting for his call. More than a few times this call ended up coming from the police station. I made myself sick waiting up to make sure he was OK. To make sure he was still alive. That he still loved me. That he didn't F.U.C.K another chick. His ex-girlfriend to be exact.

Aside from his lies, his extreme binge drinking (even for a college kid), bouts with drugs, financial struggles, and other problems, there was another constant problem in our relationship - his highschool sweetheart. After a year into our relationship, he transferred to a community college outside Virginia Tech, so we were forced to do long distance. If only I had listened to every single adult that long distance while in college was dumber than marrying Kim Kardashian on E!, this may not be an issue. But I didn't listen. So re-cue all those same alcohol, drug and lying problems, but add into the mix that I was now 4.5 hours away from my unstable boyfriend and his highschool sweetheart was just a mere 15 minutes away at a neighboring college.

I remember skipping some of the biggest sorority parties to either drive up and visit him or sit and talk to him on the phone (or more like wait for sporadic voicemails from him during his fraternity parties where the phone would always cut off as soon as I heard a girl's voice). I remember crying my eyes out because he didn't call for 3 days. His AOL Instant Messenger would change from idle yet he wouldn't respond to my messages. For days. Upon days. I'd have no clue if he was dead or alive, with or without herpes.

And then the phone calls started coming and the dirty away messages (you remember away messages on AIM, right?). His ex and I were in full-on he's mine bitch mode. (Seriously, watch that video as a short interlude.)

Whether she'll admit it or not, I'm finally adult enough to admit we were terrible to each other. Full on stalker mode. She left messages for my friends, and me hers. It became almost obsessive to destroy her than it did to mend my fleeting relationship with this guy. After basically foregoing any enjoyment my last two years in college because I was so upset and consumed with this misery, one day it all became crystal clear. He was in fact cheating on me. He had in fact turned two girls that had never met into two of the biggest enemies on the planet. You thought Robin Ventura and Nolan Ryan had a blood bath? You hadn't seen anything. I moved out from his parent's house (because yes girls, you can get cheated on even if you live with him and his parents) and wrestled with how to move on (which is what led me to move to Miami on a whim, but that's a different story). I was heartbroken and had trusted this guy who swore over and over and over that he loved me and he would never cheat on me. And to find out that every single gut instinct I had wasn't just a nightmare, but reality?

Every once in a while, I still battle with the what if questions. What if I had dated someone who truly loved me unconditionally and respected me during those primitive years? What if the moment I didn't trust him, I left instead of sitting through the pain? What if I had just told his so-called sweetheart she could have him? What if I was a better girlfriend and he never would have thought to cheat on me? What if I didn't quit my sorority because I had a controlling boyfriend?

Anyways, if I have any reader's left after this lengthy onslaught, let me get back to my actual point... The friend request brought all these thoughts and memories back. And low and behold while all this is swirling around in my head, I notice a photo of HER in a wedding gown.

And guess who the groom was?

.jl.

there's never a promise of a next date...

All dating analogies and horror stories aside, this is a rather serious post. Recently, I went on a few dates with this guy I had just met (two dates to be exact). I'm not sure if there was any potential for a love connection, but he was definitely a sweet guy that seemed to enjoy or at least put up with my snarky comments and he was fun to be around.

A few days ago he sent me a text asking for another date. I know - a text asking me on a date. But given my disdain for talking on the phone and our mutual hectic schedules, it was fine by me. I hadn't played my cards right in any of my last date-ships (because I certainly can't call them relationships as they ended just as quickly as they started), I thought I'd take a more casual approach and wait until the next day to respond. You know, give him a little time to wonder what I was up to and if I was interested. Except the next day was too late. Literally.

I responded to his text a mere 15.5 hours later (which in my world is forever) and was met with a phone call in return. I answered with a snide response something to the effect of how he must have missed my voice already but was caught off guard when I heard a woman's broken voice on the other end. She started by saying she was sorry to have called instead of text, but she wasn't sure how to tell me over text. We both quickly realized she wasn't sure how to tell me over the phone either. But she now had possession over her son's phone. He had died the night before in a car accident.

I was stunned. Partly because I didn't know the feelings inside my own heart and head, but also because I didn't know how to handle being on the phone with this loving and distraught mother. She sounded like she was still in shock and just wanted to know who I was and how we met. She wanted to know if he treated me like the gentleman he was raised to be. Every second of that seventeen minute conversation broke my heart and still replays in my head. His mother was desperately trying to hold onto some of the last moments of her late son's life.

Today is his funeral, which she kindly asked if I'd attend. I don't know what frightens me more - the fact I'll be surrounded by people that got to know him - something I will never have the chance of doing myself or just how close this hits home.

What if this was my boyfriend, or my husband, or my bestfriend? What if I hadn't made time to return my mother's phone call or respond to my bestfriend's text message? What if the last chance I'd ever have to respond to someone was taken away in an instant and I never got the chance to say yes to a date or tell someone I loved them?

For the past few days my head has been inundated with these types of questions all starting the exact same way: what if?

I just pray that in his last moments, he left this earth a happy man. Knowing that his friends and family loved him and knowing there was a girl sitting on her couch next to her chihuahua ready to say yes. I pray that his friends and family find comfort and have no regrets. And most of all, I pray that each and every one of us remembers to tell our friends and family how much we love them on a daily basis, for you never know when it'll be the last chance you have to say anything.

.jl.

Merry Christmas. In October. With Love, Summer.

It should come as no surprise given how periodically random I am, that my friends are mostly of the same unpredictable and often hilarious variety.

After a long day of traveling, I finally curl up onto my couch to catch up on Most Eligible Dallas on my DVR when I get a completely random text from my good friend Summer.

Merry Christmas Boo was the message attached to a picture of a half lit Christmas tree which I didn't have the heart to tell her was hanging a little to the right.

My only response IN mid-October of course was, "um, huh?" to which she responded, "we also made a mantle" which was attached to a picture of a pretty awesome Halloween display across her cobweb infested mantle. The next text simply read "zoom in boo" to which I did - you can see for yourself to the left what she was referring to.

Yes, "old boyfriends" was labeled on a mason jar (we do live in Texas) with what I later found out had old cake-toppers trapped inside portraying every man who ever did her wrong. Yes, this is what my friends do mid-October on a random Tuesday night. Presumably after 90210 ends and while drinking a cheap bottle of Shiraz. Or perhaps two. Out of the box.

Based on the "old boyfriends" mantle motif, I shouldn't need to point out the obvious (but I will) that Summer (just like me) seems to be going through an ordeal of boy drama. It makes my heart all warm and fuzzy to get random hilarious texts like these from her, because she's the kind of gal that just rolls with the punches. I mean really, what other option do we have? Kudos to her for keeping her head up high. But I must admit I'm a little pissed she thought of something as random to decorate a Christmas tree at this time of year before me. I guess I'm not the only one running for a shot at the title for Queen of Random. That's OK, I can handle a little friendly competition.

So I wish you all a Merry Christmas [in Mid October] from Summer.

.jl.