Well, pink is my favorite color...

I've contemplated about whether to blog about this for a few days. But today I just couldn't help myself. This morning I woke up to Janie barking in my bed and seconds later, my alarm went off. Thinking that Janie just anticipated the alarm, I slowly crawled out of bed, in no hurry to get around. After putting on my robe, I heard Amanda close the front door and yell to me "something for you at the door, Adrienne!" I rushed out of my room and there in Amanda's hands were these:

So Casey has stepped up to bat (pardon the extremely cheesy pun, I couldn't help it). He got me a dozen pink roses for my last day of law school classes -- don't get me wrong, it is a momentous occasion, but not one that I ever thought would deserve a gesture of this magnitude. This was really just the icing on the top of one of the most bizarre two weeks ever. And now, in less than one week after breaking up with his girlfriend, he has attempted to spend time with me in just about every waking moment that he's not studying (which thankfully, he studies a lot). It has been extremely convenient for me to put him off, using the excuse that he shouldn't be rushing into something so quickly after a break up.

But the flowers got me thinking today. Why is it so hard to make space for somone like him in my life? I's not really about the ex. It's really about all this: It's scary, it's anxiety-causing, it's fun, it's wierd, it's everything that puts nausea-inducing butterflies in your stomach. And frankly, I'm about two seconds away from running and hiding in a corner.

And then I realize that's where I've really been for the last five years. In a corner. Where opportunities are hard to come by. So I'm moving out. I'm making my way into the big scary world. And if Casey wants to come along, I'm not going to discourage him. Not yet, at least.

bELATED

An early morning update of the three blogs I read urged me to write about my own well-wishes for my parent's 34th Anniversary. I have to admit, I have a poor record for remembering my parent's anniversary, let alone actually commemorating it with a gift or otherwise. This year was no different. I called my mom on the 18th to tell her something (unimportant, I'm sure) when she kindly reminded me of the significance of the following day. So instead of forgetting again like I would normally do, I decided to make this Anniversary the beginning of a new era in which I will make it my mission to ensure that every Anniversary from here on out is adequately recognized for the astonishing achievement that it is! (Or, in the alternative, I will remember to send a card every year...)

Thursday, April 19 was a beautiful day in this part of the country that mom, dad and I call home. I was in a good mood. I didn't have much going on. I decided to call dad and craft a plan to surprise mom for their Anniversary. Dad informed me that he and mom didn't really have any plans for the evening but that they'd probably go out for dinner. I told him I'd make it over to their house about the same time he would be returning home from golf practice...and most importantly, I ordered him not to tell mom that I was coming.

At 6:00 I headed out my door to make the 35 minute drive to my parents house. I called mom and wished her a "Happy Anniversary" and told her to have a nice evening with dad. She asked what I was doing, I said I was just driving home from school (lie). We talked a little longer and then I said I had to go because I was finally at home. Then I called dad to tell him I was on my way and would be arriving shortly.

The drive was short -- as it always is -- because I generally spend that time on the phone catching up with out of town friends. I talked to Chrisy almost the entire way. I pulled up to my parents house and parked across the street. I ran up to the front door and rang the door bell. I didn't know what was going on inside at the time, but dad found a way to make sure mom answered the door (something she apparently never does). When she opened the door it was a progression of emotions. Mom can go from zero to tears of joy in a matter of seconds. And she did. First, it was shock...a smile....a joyous giggle...tears.

We had a lovely dinner at a fish restaurant inside the newly opened Bass Pro Shop near my parents house. We had a lovely conversation. I'm sorry we don't do that more often.

I'll close with the picture I snapped of mom and dad as they sat across from me at the restaurant. Here's to their Happy 34th and wishes of 34+ more years of the partnership they have formed and maintained so effortlessly.

the UNholiday

My friend Chrisy and her husband, Tony, flew into Kansas City on Thursday evening. On their way to Hays Friday morning they stopped off in Lawrence and picked me up so I could spend time with them while they were in the state. (They live in Dallas, TX now, in case you didn't know). I am always happy to spend time with the her family, mostly because I know I'll be fed more food than I ever need to eat. This weekend was no different. In fact, I think the whole weekend was centered on the meals Pam had planned to make us. It reminded me of mom and how excited she gets for her boys (and their plus ones) to come home, making her menu weeks in advance. It's very endearing.

The ride to Hays was interesting. Our friend, Lana, drove her Honda Civic two-door with Chrisy, Tony and I as her passengers. We stopped in Salina to pick up Chrisy's sister, Michelle, (She says, "HI Brandon") and thus capacity in the honda was at its max. I include a picture of the SNOW we encountered in Salina. It was April 6 and apparently mother nature decided this was a good time for a blizzard. Note the blooming purple tree in the center.

Anyway, we had a great weekend. I was able to see my friend Tara who recently had her first baby, Carter. What a cutie. Though I was a little concerned with the onesy he was wearing: "Roe v. Wade Survivor." Things are very different in Hays...I often forget that. I also went to a wedding shower for my friend, Nicki. She was a member of the very exclusive "BBF" when we were in high school. A group of friends, consisting of Me, Chrisy, Tiona, Nicki, Angie and Tara. The name came from a drunken Tara who exclaimed to us one night that she loved her BBF when she really meant BFF which everyone knows stands for "Best friends forever." The name stuck. And now, seven years later, Nicki is the last of the BBF to get married...besides me.

We also spent several hours dying Easter Eggs, which is obviously a practice I usually don't partake in anymore, but when in Rome...The eggs were actually quite immaculate when Pam decided to get out her glitter and other bedazzling trinkets! Fred, Chrisy's dad, was worried about what all the glitter would do to these eggs he'd be eating the next day. I casually responded, "No worries, Fred. You'll just be shitting glitter." I k i d y o u n o t. It got a great response! Here Chrisy and I are with an easter basket of our prized eggs!

Saturday night was a hit! We attended "New Beer's Eve" at Gella's; a celebration for a new beer they were releasing. I've included a picture of the new beer here. (Ok, that's a lie. This is actually the Lemon Ale which is much better than the new beer. Sorry, Gella's).

Originally, my weekend in Hays was to end on Saturday evening. I had convinced mom and dad to come to Hays as well so we could leave Saturday, as opposed to Sunday afternoon when I could catch a ride with Chrisy, etc. But Chrisy begged me to stay so I let mom and dad off the hook. The main reason I didn't want to stay in Hays was to avoid "Easter Sunday." I knew it was going to be a big deal at Chrisy's house -- they were expecting 20 some family members. But, I put my foot down and did not go to church, instead I just partook in the elaborate brunch buffet prepared by Pam and other family members.

Odd is in the Air

I love living in Lawrence (sorry Dad). On any given day, you can take a walk down Mass Street and experience all arrays of human behavior: a young couple, walking hand in hand basking in the glory of their newfound undergraduate love; the crack addict begging for change; and ofcourse, the Lawrence hippie reeking of Patchuli (sp) and unwashed, dreaded hair.

Today, however, as I sit in the Borders Café typing a paper, I am privy to one of the most bizarre scenes I’ve witnessed in my three years here. Across the street, outside of the Java Break Café, are a group of four dancers, three females and one male. All dressed in black, each donning a black mustache reminiscent of the Charlie Chaplin (thanks, Brandon) style mustache. They are dancing about in an almost trance-like style, some clutching paper coffee cups as though they are in worship. At times, the pace picks up as though they are seizing, yet in a controlled manner.

I’ve been watching this scene now for almost fifteen minutes and I am completely in awe. I can’t stop watching. And I’m not the only one. The twenty-some other patrons of the Borders Café are also watching in awe and attempting to understand the scene going on just a mere streets’ width away. A lady just exclaimed that it is probably part of some dance spotlight going on in the city. I’m doubtful. I mean, this is weird.

I’ve attempted to capture the scene with my trusty razor cell phone camera but ofcourse it falls short of giving you any idea of just how bizarre this is. Nonetheless, here is the photo, so you can at least get an idea...the blur of people across the street are those other observors watching in awe. You are maybe able to see one of the dancers dressed in black. Perhaps even more exciting are the budding trees. Yay for spring!!

WNN0438

My next door neighbor, Jesse, and I enjoy reminiscing about our farm childhoods. Only those who were lucky enough to spend their youth in rural Kansas can exchange the unique stories that accompany such a lifestyle: hour long drives to get warm pizza, burning the trash, walking for miles in any direction before finding your nearest neighbor, a gas station in your own back yard (or in our case, an ice skating rink), any relative in a 30-mile radius was your "best friend" and so on...

This particular evening, Jesse and I were talking about the technology of farm living. He was actually admitting that he recognizes the utility of cell phones in the farm setting and didn't know what they ever did without them. Which quickly led us both to laugh about the days of radios and walkie-talkies. And before I even realized the random sequence of numbers and letters that were entering my head, I blurted them out: WNN0438. And there they were. The numbers of my childhood. Those numbers flooded back memories of me radio'ing back to the house because I had stalled the four-wheeler somewhere and couldn't restart it; taking a call from dad who was in a hot tractor somewhere letting us know he'd be home soon; Brandon and Devin getting into walkie-talkie fights about who knows what...I even remember a time when we took the walkie-talkies on vacation and I got in trouble for spouting out the code. To this day I'm not sure why that was bad. Maybe someone can fill me in?

Aww farm life. I wouldn't trade that upbringing for the most privileged childhood in the world. And I mean that (just in case mom or dad wants to challenge me on that statement...)

Seventh Year Senior Syndrome

Never one to let go of my psychology roots, I recently diagnosed myself with a very serious disorder: Seventh Year Senior Syndrome (SYSS). Though the incident rate of SYSS is high amongst my fellow law school classmates, SYSS is a rather rare syndrome. At it's earliest stage, fifth-year senior syndrome, it affects those few (or slacker) college students who choose to stretch out their undegraduate to a fifth year. However, if further schooling must be pursued, there is a 99.9% chance the syndrome will develop into full-blown SYSS.

SYSS manifests itself in many different ways. Its effects are most prominent whenever an SYSS sufferer must enter the law school, talk about law school, or attempt to find a legal job. Most SYSS sufferers cope with its effects by limiting appearances at law school to as few as possible(note this does not mean class-skipping), frequent outbursts damning the law school to a fiery place, frequent party-planning/attending, day drinking at the crossing and late-night partying with other SYSS sufferers. SYSS sufferers do not limit their coping mechanisms to alcohol, however. In fact, being the perfectionists that most SYSS sufferers are, many turn to exercise. Yoga classes are over-crowded with eager SYSS sufferers who are ready to sweat out the law school toxins in their bodies. Sunny days in Lawrence equals crowds of SYSS sufferers walking/running around downtown, soaking up the sun in order to burn away more toxins. Nonetheless, many of these activities may soon turn ugly. After any given yoga class, you may find an SYSS sufferer peer-pressuring others to blow off their school responsibilities and go to dinner on Mass street...followed by a few beers at a random bar... 'til passouts do you part.

The treatment, ofcourse, is relatively simple: stop going to school. Thankfully, my treatment is on it's way. By May 20 of this year, they say I'll virtually be cured of my SYSS. And it really couldn't come at a more fortunate time.

So these...these are the best years of our lives

Friday, March 2 was a blustery and chilly day. I sprung out of bed and headed to the law school to do some last minute work on the finishing touches of that evening's Barrister's Ball (aka Law Prom). Giddy with excitement, I smiled everyone I passed on my walk into the building and followed that up with "Hey, you coming to the Ball tonight?" The response was usually in the affirmative. To which I'd say, "Great. It's going to be such a good time."

The truth was, I didn't actually know if it would be a good time. For months, the five brave soles spearheading this event (Dan, Katie, Lindsey, Christel and I) had been focusing all of our efforts on making this an event that people would look back on and say it was one of their best times in law school. But whenever you take on the responsibility for planning a "good time," it's inevitable you'll worry it will be anything but that. Not to mention, we weren't putting on this event for the normal population. Law students are notorious for being hard to please. I guess it's the competitive nature in all of us that makes them think "I could have done this better."

I had to put my anxiety to the side as I checked the office messages, paid some bills and set off to purchase wrist bands. Besides, in less than an hour, I'd be leaving for Manhattan, KS to see Prez Bill speak. (Great time, btw. Such a brilliant man).

Fast forward to 6:45 pm as I sprint back into my house, returning from Manhattan. I was supposed to be ready and at the ball by 7:30. As I sprinted through my get ready routine, I was aware that the focal point for the night would have to be the shoes and dress I purchased rather than hair and makeup. I walked out the door a little passed 7:30, anxious to imbibe in the good time I had promised so many people.

And boy was it ever. Three hours later, I was swimming in a sea of law students plus one all dressed to the nines. (One girl was even wearing her pageant dress...wow!) The floor was coated in beer, wine and chunks of wine glass. And the dj was playing hip hop's finest selection. Though it started classy it ended just like we wanted. I couldn't have been more proud and with every turn I took that night there was someone there greating me with "this is so fun!" It wasn't a thank-you, but it was better than that. It was sincere.