BiSC III: Wednesday (B Minus 1 Day)

Despite fact that BiSC is classified as an "unconference" I have actually learned quite a bit over the past few years. I mean, aside from things about myself and friendship and how to make a collage of images to post on Instagram. Specific skills, such as learning to travel by myself. Traveling solo is actually a lot of fun and makes you feel like a super independent badass. The biggest downside that I can think of is that you have to haul all your luggage with you if you have to pee because you don't have anyone to watch it for you, and it's a huge pain in the ass because bathroom stalls were not designed to fit a person and luggage. Unless you take the handicap stall. Which I will neither admit to nor deny doing.

But I digress. Over the last few years, I have learned how to navigate unfamiliar airports, the beauty of taking the airport shuttles, how to pack for up to a week with only taking on a carry-on bag because I refuse to pay for a checked bag, how to efficiently get through airport security with minimal awkward encounters with TSA agents, how to sleep sitting completely upright in the middle seat, that the least rip-offy food at the airport stores is probably trail mix because it's almost equally overpriced everywhere, to always offer to gate check your bag when they ask for volunteers because (a) it's a free checked bag that you don't have to haul around at your connecting airport and (b) they're probably going to make you do it anyway because there is never enough room, that a backpack is probably the best choice for your personal item because you can stuff your laptop and your book and your purse and anything else in it and it still fits under the seat, and to never buy a salad at the airport because they are disgusting and you totally just wasted at least five dollars.

Most importantly, I have learned that it is cheapest to fly on a Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. Thursday through Sunday is the weekend, as far as airlines are concerned, and they will charge you accordingly. I was considerably more broke last year than I was this year, and I was anxious to save every possible penny... and I heard some mumblings about some people coming out on Wednesday instead of Thursday and leaving on Monday instead of Sunday. Excited about the possibility of spending even more time in Las Vegas, I crunched the numbers. Even with my portion of paying for a hotel room those extra nights, I was going to save a significant amount of money. And after my missed connection fiasco of 2011, I was more than happy to get there in plenty of time and avoid the possibility of missing out on any little bit of BiSC again.

When it came time to make my travel arrangements this year, it wasn't even a question as to whether I would take the extended trip again. I booked my extra hotel rooms before I booked my flight. I wasn't even remotely anxious about the traveling part of the trip - I'd done so much traveling for work in the meantime that it was old hat at this point. I'm a pretty savvy flier, though I did forget to take my baggie of toiletries out of my backpack when going through security in Des Moines. (In my defense, they are usually in my suitcase, but I'd had a Shampoo Leaking Incident on my last trip home and I didn't want to ruin any of my carefully planned outfits.) I'm really not sure what my biggest anxieties actually were; I'd pretty much stuffed them all down and directed all my energy into plotting outfits and trying to pack. This turned me into a bit of a lunatic but once I was packed, that was it, and I had no choice but to chill the eff out and enjoy myself. Though I did experience a bizarre bout of plane-disaster-related anxiety as I drove up to the airport - I've never been nervous before flying, but I think that this was possibly because I had just driven past an ad agency that was inexplicably flying pirate flags with a skull and crossbone on them. I've seen Final Destination. I know how it works. (Spoiler alert: everything turned out fine.)

I guess my other (completely unrelated) anxiety was rooted in the fact that this was the last hurrah for BiSC. Seeing people put "last" and "Bloggers in Sin City" together in the same sentence had been making my heart ache for months. I was worried what would happen when I got home, what it would feel like to know that there wasn't another one to look forward to. I also felt anxiety to make sure that this grand finale was the Best Ever and to make sure I did ALL THE THINGS and made the most of it. That's a lot of expectation build-up, you know? I don't know why I always do that to myself.

At any rate, it wouldn't be a proper BiSC if I didn't get delayed leaving Denver. This time, it wasn't a missed connection due to leaving Des Moines late; rather, there was a bit of a kerfuffle due to the weather - namely, the high winds around the airport that made it difficult for the arriving planes to land. They had been circling the skies patiently, but the departures couldn't leave until they landed. Basically, the air traffic controllers were probably all having panic attack and running around with loosened ties and pit-stained white shirts, frantically trying to sort out the mess. (They were apparently all fairly new, which for some reason the captain felt it was necessary to inform us. Confidence-inspiring!) But, I had plenty of time, and there was no chance I could be separated from my luggage at this point, and the whole point of arriving a day early (aside from it being cheaper) was to allow for the unexpected. I was pretty zen about the whole thing, but I did sneak in a text message to let my hotel roomies know I would be a bit late.

Now, I have flown into McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas four times before this trip; I have never had trouble finding my way around, not even the first time I had been there. But this time, I was spit out into a part of the airport I had never even seen before. It felt like it was in the basement. There were still, like, two slot machines nearby, so I knew that I was for sure in Vegas, but... no stores, no billboards, no carpet.

I waited patiently for my luggage (gate check FTW!) while idly checking my phone and sending an absurd amount of text messages and tweets. You know I'm in BiSC when my Twitter presence wakes back up. I am such a terrible tweeter these days.

I did the most logical thing I could do, and went outside. I was definitely not in a part of the airport that I knew. I might not even have been at the main terminal - I'm pretty sure I wasn't. I don't even know if I was in a terminal that was attached to the main terminal via the tram. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE TRAM WAS IN RELATION TO THAT SPOT. I was tweeting with Raoul and Edwin, who had also just arrived, and it was apparent that they were in the normal part of the airport and there was no way in hell I was going to find them. I wasn't down for paying for a cab by myself so I set out in search of a shuttle that would take me to the Strip.

Finally, I found something resembling a shuttle stop, and of course the guy had problems figuring out how to take a card with the iPad/reader, because of course I didn't have more than enough cash on me for anything other than the driver gratuity, because I had expected to end up where I always end up and I knew for a fact that I could use a card to buy a shuttle ticket from that location. He took my card with him while he went inside to find help (as I made sure to sear the name from his badge into my brain) and, fortunately, came back with it and another dude who knew what was up. Finally, FINALLY, I was on my way to the Flamingo, and in a sort of weird, Vegasy way, it felt like I was headed home.

I sent a shouty text message to my three roomies, announcing my arrival, which was key to the success of their evening, since the hotel room was in my name. I stood in the lobby, doing a fantastic job of restraining myself from bouncing up and down in excitement, and occupied myself with taking a ridiculous photo with the illuminated poster of Donny Osmond.

Because, as I was devastated to learn when I was in Las Vegas for work in January, the life-size Donny decal on the entrance to the gift shop was GONE due to their remodeling. A moment of silence, please.

As soon as I saw them approaching (confession: I was watching for Jessica's red hair), I ran over as fast as a person weighed down with luggage can run, and enveloped them in a hug. Suddenly, seeing these girls, it all felt real. I was here, I was back, and this weekend was finally going to happen and everything was going to be wonderful.

I knew Mich from 2011 and was sad when she wasn't able to make it last year. Honestly, I was incredibly flattered at how excited she was to see me, because I didn't really think I'd made that big of an impression on her or anyone for that matter, and it was completely mind-blowing to be proven wrong. She was just as awesome and friendly and sweet as I remembered, and it was like that Year Without Mich hadn't happened, because it felt like we had picked up where we left off in 2011.

I had met Jessica in February when I was in Denver for work. I knew from the minute I read her bio that we needed to be friends, because she was hilarious in all the ways that my sense of humor requires, and sassy, and insightful, and a ton of fun. I was incredibly pleased that I got to meet her early and I had a super fun time hanging out with her in Denver and even made friends with some of her friends and it was so awesome, guys.

I had never met Marian before and - I know she has heard this a lot - was kind of intimidated by her. She's such a bad-ass on her website and just radiated confidence and severe kick-assery skills. However, I had learned by now not to be overly fooled by appearances - she had seemed super nice in all of our pre-BiSC messaging, which meant she probably was. I'll let you in on a secret: bloggers are regular people, too. We're also very similar people - aside from the fact that we're all writers and often share other creative interests as well (photography, design, food, crafts, etc), most of us are pretty introverted. Which makes sense: I write because it's how I share my feelings. I am more comfortable talking with "invisible strangers" and a screen than I am pouring my heart out to people I've known for the better part of a decade. Maybe that's not introversion so much as a personality glitch, but whatever. My point is: she's a person, just like me, and I was right in my assumption that she was going to turn out to be nice. Because she is.

(Frankly, I'm a little jealous of how well these three got along. I decided to sleep in the next morning because I needed to catch up on my lack of sleep from the previous few days in order to enjoy the weekend, and they went to brunch and then trekked all over the Strip and had awesome adventures and I MISSED OUT which of course is my biggest fear with stuff like this, but: it was my choice, I guess, and my own damn fault. I felt like this happened a lot over the weekend - I was focused on whatever thing it was that I felt needed to happen at that time, and probably missed a lot of things in the process. It's impossible to catch everything, sure - but I always come home feeling like maybe I could have participated in "more.")

We got up to our hotel room and plunked our stuff down, and Mich looked at me with a playful twinkle in her eye. "I have a present for you," she said eagerly. The same eagerness I tend to have, when I have something really awesome that I can't wait to show someone.

"For me?" I was a bit puzzled. I knew all of the Canadian BiSCuits had brought a lot of candy and snacks with them that we couldn't get here in the US, but I hadn't really requested anything.

The next thing I know, she whips out a black sequin fedora and I'm pretty sure my eyes got big. But then she reached underneath the brim and flipped a switch and it started BLINKING.

IT WAS A LIGHT UP SEQUIN FEDORA.

You can probably only imagine the amount of squealing and bouncing that went on at that moment. This hat was the epitome of Las Vegas. (If you're new here, it's also significant because I have made a habit of buying a sequin fedora every year in Vegas.)

Despite the level of travel fatigue we were all feeling, we weren't quite ready to call it a day yet.

We went back downstairs and said hello to the handful of other early arrivals who were at the Center Cut Steakhouse, enjoying half-price martinis and an epic bacon sampler. Guys, this was the thickest bacon I have ever seen, and I'm from Iowa.

We went over to Carlos & Charlie's for a (cheaper) dinner, wherein we learned about the wonder of Canadian money. (I learned a lot about Canada this weekend, actually.) Their new bills are made of a plasticky material that you can wash without incident (though if you accidentally run them through the dryer, they will melt, which is probably worse than what happens to our money when you clean it - it just gets soggy and soft). There is a clear panel in them that you can actually see through. The best part? The anti-counterfeit chemical they use smells like maple syrup if you rub the bill. THEY HAVE SCRATCH AND SNIFF MONEY. I'm not even kidding. We tested it on multiple bills over the weekend.

I also tried not to be a narcissistic know-it-all but I couldn't seem to stop myself from babbling about the past BiSCs I'd been to and I didn't want to be That Person but I was legitimately trying to be helpful and some of the time I was answering direct questions but the rest of the time I just thought of random things that I thought might be useful to them (since Marian and Jessica were BiSCgins) but... I'm always kind of paranoid about how I come off, because I honestly don't know, and I don't want to be an asshole. So if I was: SORRY GUYS.

We wandered back to Center Cut where more BiSCuits were accumulating. There were hugs - reunion hugs and nice-to-meet-you hugs (we don't mess around - you're a BiSCuit, you get a hug, period) and I demonstrated a proper sitting tackle hug to Larissa.

At this point, I was ready to sleep, but I was waiting for the DC crew to arrive. They'd gotten some sort of awesome deal and all flown in together on the same flight from Baltimore. They also somehow managed to end up arriving to the hotel in a freaking LIMO, because it was cheaper than a cab, and therefore, an obvious choice. I almost literally knocked Caryn over in the lobby as I ran up and hugged her - I'm not actually sure what kept us from falling over, because I don't generally possess the greatest sense of balance sometimes. It kind of reminded me a little bit of the start of the school year at ISU when everyone was moving back into the dorms and we were excited to be reunited after three long months apart. Replace three with twelve and dorms with Las Vegas and you've basically got the same thing.

Eventually, sleep became an inevitable prospect, and I was pretty proud of myself for staying up later than I expected I would be able to. Later than I did last year, even. Score some points for this old lady. I went back up to the room where my roomies were already snuggled into bed and made good use of the flashlight app on my phone. Fortunately, no lamps started on fire this time. I drifted off to sleep, blissfully content and happy. I was back in Las Vegas, and I was with my people, and we had the whole weekend ahead of us, and it was going to be amazing.

(to be continued...)

Vanity. And Pie.

So, how awesome is this photo that Casey took of me in Vegas? So awesome. It looks like an album cover except that I have no real musical talent to speak of.

What's even better is that the original photo is of me feeding pie to Joe the Intern at one of our brunch buffets. Because Vegas.

In other news, I am still working on my recap posts, but really it's only because I have so many photos and I'm trying to get them wrangled into a presentable format. PLEASE CONTINUE TO HOLD, YOUR CALL IS VERY IMPORTANT TO US. VEGAS RECAPS WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY. PROBABLY.

[Photo(s) by Casey Palmer]

Run, Kelly, Run!

If you follow me on Instagram, among the photos of my nephew and Las Vegas and food and general randomness, you will likely have seen a lot of images of myself looking kind of sweaty and screenshots of my phone with various numbers. Because I have kind of really started to get into running. I blame all of my blogger friends who are also runners, because they have brainwashed me into thinking it is fun, which... it kind of is. I mean, running itself isn't fun, but watching myself do stuff that I didn't think I could do? That's fun. Feeling like I'm starting to take care of myself and be healthy? That's fun. Fitting back into my pants? That's really fun.

I have mentioned it a couple times on here, but kind of in passing. Today, I am going to directly talk about it, because of a couple significant things:

1. I broke my PR on May 10. I ran for 40 minutes, which was actually my third PR. My original was 32 minutes last fall in the Color Run (which I probably still haven't blogged about), and then I ran 35 minutes on May 5. But the 40 minutes is my new record, both for time and distance, because in that 40 minutes, I actually managed to run my first 5K. Which is good, because I am signed up for a run at the end of the month, and I would so very much love to actually run the whole thing.

To which one of my friends was all, "You couldn't take one more step?" Heh.

2. I'm gearing up! I mean, in the literal sense. I've acquired some running gear.

First and foremost: I got new running shoes. REAL running shoes. I went to a legitimate running store (okay, they are technically a bike store but they also serve runners and triathletes too) where I ran barefoot on a treadmill and the "shoe guru" (no, seriously - that's what's on his business cards) watched a video of my feet to see how I ran, and then pulled some options from the back, and I tried them on and ran a couple minutes in each of them on the treadmill, and picked out the ones I liked the best and that I thought felt the best - and he reassured me multiple times that I couldn't make a wrong choice. All the shoes he'd pulled were suited to my running style, and each and every pair would be a good match. I am so excited to get them broken in and start running in them. Mostly because my old shoes sucked, but also because now I am just that much closer to feel like I can start taking myself seriously as a "real" runner.

 And they're hot pink. Of course.

I suppose I could have kept running in the shoes I had, but you know what? I was ready to invest a little bit more in this little hobby of mine. For starters, my shoes were crap - they were cheap shoes I'd probably gotten in some generic discount store and they are actually literally starting to fall apart. For seconders, I was actually starting to experience some lower back aches on my longer runs, and a quick Google search indicated that my problem was likely my posture (story of my life) or my shoes. Spoiler alert: your posture is also greatly affected by your shoes. So I decided to put an end to that nonsense and go get some real shoes.

(On an unrelated note, because of the way I run - on the middle/front of my foot - he asked me if I had a background in gymnastics or dancing, which I always consider to be a compliment because I assume it means I look graceful and coordinated, or something. I AM A GAZELLE. *prances*) 

In a probably not-so-ironic twist of fate, I was reading Nicole's blog post about being a "real" (fill in the blank with whatever you're feeling like a phony doing) and it struck all of my chords. I felt like I wasn't a real writer, or a real designer, or a real runner. Her post happened to also be a giveaway post, but I was less moved to comment by the giveaway than by the need to share my feelings.

Well, turns out I won, so I got some real, honest-to-God running clothes too. It's not quite warm enough to wear them yet, but I'm pretty excited about trying them out. It's going to take about the same amount of courage to wear them as it did putting on a bathing suit in Las Vegas because I am still very self-conscious about my body, but I'm hoping that by the time the right weather rolls around, I will have found some more confidence in myself.

I also had a custom bracelet made that I can wear on days when I feel like I want to give up (or all the time, really) with my running motto on it - "It does not matter how slow you go, as long as you do not stop." That's what got me through my first 32 minute run (which at that point had been the longest I'd ever run in my entire life) and I still repeat it to myself often.

I got it from the same Etsy shop where I got my Twitter necklace. She does a great job and I've loved both pieces I've gotten from here, and I do not hesitate to recommend her if you want some custom stamped jewelry. They also have a full website you can visit too. (Shameless pluggery. Maybe I should work out some sort of referral bonus or something?)

Last but not least, since multiple people have asked: the "orange things on my ears" in all of those photos are the Sony MP3 headphones that I got from Klout. I mostly like them because they are handy and cord-free and they have a pretty impressive battery life. (I've been using these since April for about an hour each outing, and the battery has only died on me once). I dislike them because my ears are improperly shaped for earbuds and I feel like I spend the entire walk to the park adjusting them so they stay in my ears. Mostly, though, I really like them. And they were free, so I will never ever complain about that.

Because I can't post about anything without an accompanying image.

3. I started a new blog. OMG I KNOW. I need another blog like I need (insert something superfluous here in order to complete the metaphor). I'm still tweaking it to get it to my liking (and I still need to design a real header), but it's up and running. I'm retroactively posting about all of my runs so far because I had a lot more to say about them than what can be contained in an Instagram caption. So if you'd care to follow alongside me on my running journey, I'd be happy to have you. I'll probably still keep posting updates to Instagram because I sort of feel like it keeps me accountable, but I'll be going into more detail on the blog. I decided to separate it into its own thing because I'd just really hate for this blog to have any sort of consistent theme. (Sarcasm, y'all!). But seriously. I'll post random updates here but I didn't want to make it the main focus since I'm pretty sure none of you started reading this blog to read about running. So, I would like to introduce my new project, Run Like Kell, which is not so much a running blog as it is a blog about me running. Which, believe it or not, are two very different things.

Saturday Night's All Right For Writing

This time last week I was sitting on a couch on a rooftop of a swanky nighclub in Las Vegas, enjoying the perfect warmth of a desert evening and once again marveling at how I'd managed to find myself there and trying very hard not to focus on the fact that it was almost over.

Today, it's rainy and stormy and cold, and I've spent most of the day in bed, trying to fight off some unidentified form of illness that's trying to take me out. I had fever dreams on Thursday night but managed to wake up without one on Friday, though by the time I finally got home again I was experiencing the type of body aches that tell you that you're about to go down for the count. I've felt really weird all day - I get hints of being unwell (achy, dizzy, with random bursts of coughing), and then I take a nap, and I'm good to go for a few hours. If I have to do this all weekend to keep from being Actually Sick, I will. I even tried some Emergen-C, which I hate and find to be incredibly gross, and supercharged on whatever form of Vitamin C I could get my hands on. I think my immune system is stronger now that I've started running and eating better, but the sheer amount of stress (and emotional whiplash) I've experienced over the last week probably didn't help matters. I guess a lot of the other BiSCuits are getting sick, too, so it's a thing. (My brain automatically thinks of the movie Contagion which I've only seen trailers for, and... yeah. BAD.)

I had to get up early this morning to collect gate fees at a softball tournament, that, frankly, I felt little to no association with at all. It's run by the board that I'm on; however, it's for the "other" league, the one I have no participation in. My team doesn't even play in this one. But, like a trooper, I was up at 6am (SIX IN THE MORNING) (!), it's storming like a mofo and they are stubbornly refusing to call it because canceling a tournament is probably the biggest pain in the ass of all time and I don't really blame them, except it's really storming, but whatever, I'm already awake so I don't care, and I get there and THEN they decide to push it all back two hours. Ok, whatever, I used that time to finish uploading all of my Vegas pictures to facebook, which, despite how ridiculous of a priority that is, it was actually a huge weight off of my shoulders and I don't even care if I don't accomplish anything else this weekend. Then I come back and stand in the cold and the wind and the damp for an hour and a half, fumbling with soggy money and reassuring people that the games were still going to go on as planned, keeping a smile on my face even though I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. It wasn't terrible, softball people are usually good people. Minus those two cars who zoomed by us so they didn't have to pay, YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL AND KARMA WILL FIND YOU. Anyway, some couple brought me a hot chocolate because they felt bad for me and it was probably the nicest thing ever and really sweet of them to do.

I didn't run today - I should have, it was cold but I've run in colder. And snow, even. But it got late before I realized it and I didn't really want to go run in the park in the dark because even though this is a super safe town, it just sounds like a great way to get yourself in the news. I thought about borrowing the BF's elliptical but my energy was just kind of drained at that point, so... no deal. I'll go tomorrow. I need to. For me, for my momentum, and probably for my immune system.

I'm hoping to start my BiSC recaps this week - I even made outlines and did some pre-writing while I was there (!), but man. There are so many thoughts and so many feelings and, mostly, so many pictures. I think I'm going to have to collage them so I don't break my blog.

There is absolutely no point to this entry (as I'm sure you've gathered on) other than a small smattering of updates, but I'm trying to get back into the swing of things again, so: here we are.

That One Time I Cried Over Missing Shoes, And Other Reasons Feelings Are The Worst

I'm not ready to write my Vegas recap post(s) yet. I don't know how to explain the last three years and what they've meant and why this trip has been so important to me. I don't know how to round up all of the photos and quotes and tweets and inside jokes and all of the things I'm so desperately trying to hold on to. I don't know how to process the fact that I'm not sure when (or even if) I'll see some or most or all of these people again. My heart is aching in a way that it does only when I come home from BiSC. I half-jokingly commented earlier that I didn't want to talk to anyone or read anything that wasn't related to BiSC. I'm not ready to let go of it yet. I'm in complete denial over the fact that it's over.

I just spent the last ten minutes sobbing uncontrollably because I couldn't find my running shoes. I suspect it's not really about the shoes, but really, who the hell loses a pair of shoes? Whose life is so overwhelming and messy and out of control that they literally lose their only pair of athletic shoes? My frustration kept building to the point where I just snapped, and there were ugly tears and it just.. I don't know. I had a very small window this afternoon where I could go - I was going to meet up with the BF for dinner before he had to go back to work for a while, it's probably going to storm again, and I really just want to sit and organize all of my photos but I really, really wanted to go running, because I haven't for almost a full week now and also: buffets. I'm already getting bombarded with work emails and softball emails and ALL OF THE OBLIGATIONS and I was doing pretty good with the transition back into real life until this shoe debacle and suddenly I felt like all control was slipping away from me and I just cracked. I'm still processing All of the Feelings from saying goodbye to everyone and really, I just want a hug and I don't want to be back in my real life yet because it's hard and demanding and stressful and all I really wanted to do was go for a run (never thought I'd say that) and I CAN'T because I LOST MY EFFING SHOES and everything is the worst.

I didn't expect it to hit me so hard, so all at once, so soon, this end of an era, this final goodbye to our family reunion in the desert. I know it's not really the end - we'll find new ways to meet up and hang out, we're all a few mouse clicks and keystrokes away from each other, and yet... and yet, my heart is breaking and I've never, ever been good at handling my emotions. From the people I met three years ago to the people I met three days ago, I miss everyone terribly. I never really thought I would feel like I belong - and sometimes, oftentimes, I still don't, but it's the worst feeling to know that I'm so far from everyone and I feel like I'm going to miss out on everything and be left out of everything. The worst part is? The only people who will ever truly understand exactly what I am feeling are the ones who were there and experienced it themselves - the people that are too far away to hug. How could I possibly explain any of this to anyone else? I don't think anyone else can truly understand why am I so upset over this, why it's so hard. I'll never be able to figure out how to explain it, I could spend years writing and re-writing about it, and I doubt the words will ever come out right.

Where do we go from here? I don't know. I'm sure there's something. But I can't look ahead yet, because I'm stuck right here. I'm mourning something that I never really thought could be mine to miss, and yet, here we are. All the feelings, all the tears, and this space is my only outlet and I can't even explain it. A fine mess I'm in, indeed.

Nephew'd!

One month ago today, I became an aunt. Obviously I couldn't post about it before I had several pictures to show off my little nephew's absolute adorableness, so I figured the one month birthday would be a good milestone for which to show him off.

I had gotten it into my head that it was going to be a boy. My sister and brother-in-law had opted to be surprised, so they spent nineteen weeks with a little envelope on their coffee table that had the answer to the ultimate mystery inside of it, for which they should probably be given an award because I would not have been able to pass by it every day without caving. But I had three dreams where it was a boy - okay, one of which they said it was a boy and then when they came out to announce the name, they were all JK IT'S A GIRL, so that dream is pretty much irrelevant. The most vivid one was where I was coming to visit and I walked in the front door of their house and a little brown-haired toddler came running at me, all excited that I was there. That was the very best, and I can't wait until it happens for real.

Here's the suckiest thing about being an aunt: not getting to see the little peanut very often. My sister only lives an hour and a half away, but that's still kind of a trek, and gas isn't cheap, plus they're obviously busy and trying to juggle a plethora of other visitors as well. I have decided to claim him as my own; I am oddly jealous of the girls who have married Mike's brothers - I have to share my aunthood with them and I want it all to myself, dammit. But, well, I'm selfish, I guess.

It was April 16 when my sister texted me to tell me that her water had broken, and I just stood there in my kitchen all excited and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. Should I drop everything and zoom up there? I obviously wanted to meet the little dude as soon as possible. (Or dudette. It was still unknown at that point.) So I stayed put and just hung around, anxiously waiting to hear. I even made a comment to the BF that I bet she was hoping he'd be born that day, because she has this (what I believe to be irrational) hatred of odd numbers. (I was totally right, too - even during the process of giving birth, that thought had crossed her mind. I know her so well.) But, alas, he was born shortly after midnight - 12:41 am. Seven pounds, eleven ounces. Nineteen and three quarters of an inch long. Looking exactly like his daddy.

The crappy part is that nobody actually texted me when he was born, so naturally I was really worried, because the last text I got from the BIL was that she was getting ready to push, and then... nothing. I guess my mother had tried to send me a picture message, but fun fact: even though Google Voice will forward calls and texts to my old number to my new phone, it won't relay picture messages. So it wasn't until about 6am the next morning that I got the official announcement from my sister.

Everyone say hello to Jackson Richard.

At one of her baby showers, we were supposed to guess the birth day, what it would be, and a name. All I knew was that she liked names that ended in N. So this one popped into my head, I decided that it was the very best one, and wrote it down. She gave me kind of a funny look and was like, "that's actually our first choice right now." I'm pretty much psychic, you guys. So basically from that point forward, I decided it my head that his name was going to be Jackson. So it was a good thing that that's what they named him, otherwise I would have had some mental dissonance to deal with. The Richard is after both our dad and our grandpa. (I'm actually floating around the theory right now that my dad likes little J-man more than he liked either me or my sister. My grandma swears he was the same way with us, but I don't know. He's loving this grandpa business. Obviously my mother and stepmother are too, but that could probably go without saying.)

I had never held a baby that little before, but I took the day off and drove on up to visit them in the hospital and I sat with little Jackson in my arms for quite a long time. He was still pretty sleepy from, y'know, being born, and occasionally he would wake up, scream for no reason, and then suddenly pass back out.

I've only gotten to visit him one other time since then, and he was pretty much just as adorable as I remembered. I'm pretty much going to spoil the crap out of that kid. I have purchased no fewer than ten outfits for the little guy, of which I am incredibly excited to show you because they are AWESOME, but my sister hasn't even seen them yet, so I don't want to ruin the surprise of them. So you'll have to wait. I had to cut myself off from buying him things... partially because of money, but mostly because I had already purchased all of the things I liked enough to buy, and now I will just have to wait until the next season's outfits come out.

I have mandated that my sister send me a picture of him every day, which she's been pretty good about. I have them all in an album on my phone now, so odds are good that anyone I hang out with will be subjected to a viewing. Yeah, I'm gonna be THAT person. At least it's not pictures of my cat, right?

Anyway. This is only the first installment in what will probably be many of the saga of my aunthood and my quest to become Jackson's absolute favorite aunt, so I'll wrap it up here for now. Here, have another picture or three before you go.

 

Hot Hot Heat

The temperature outside yesterday stayed pretty steady at 95 degrees.

Depending on where you live or how much you like the heat, that sentence may mean something different to each of you. To me, it means it feels like it's hotter than the surface of the sun outside and my poor delicate self has a tendency to wilt under extreme temperatures. I don't like the heat and I am very rarely dressed appropriately for it. You know those crazy people that wear shorts in the middle of the winter while there's a foot of snow on the ground? I'm the opposite. I'm the crazy person that wears jeans and black t-shirts in the summer. (Hey, black is slimming.) I'm most comfortable in jeans and I dislike when it's too hot because then I am physically uncomfortable and my brain weeps. 

At any rate, I figured it would be a good trial run for Vegas, who is currently experiencing 100 degree temperatures, which, frankly, is only 5 degrees hotter than here, and once I've reached my heat threshold, it's all miserable and the temperature really doesn't matter anymore. And I really do want to slap the people who are always all, "yeah, but it's a dry heat." ONE HUNDRED DEGREES IS EFFING HOT, WHETHER IT IS DRY OR NOT. Granted, humidity makes everything worse (especially my hair), but even so. 

AIR CONDITIONING IS MY BFF.

It wasn't quite as bad as I was bracing myself for, though. I mean, I only went to my car to go get my hair cut* but there was kind of a breeze and I could tolerate it in short increments, despite that I am dressed for a temperature roughly twenty five degrees cooler than what it actually was. So maybe I will be okay.

*OMG I FINALLY GOT A HAIR CUT. I went into full-on panic mode last month when I went to call for a cut and my salon didn't answer and didn't answer and didn't answer and naturally this was the end of the world because I don't trust anyone else with my hair, even though I don't do anything terribly exciting with it (trim off the damaged bits, layer it up a little, and thin in out, because I have the thickest hair ever), and then finally I did some Google-fu and landed on their facebook page (which I probably should have looked for first) and discovered that, to my relief, they were remodeling and would reopen in time for me to squish in a haircut before I left. I booked a hair appointment through their facebook page which is one of the more random things I've done lately when it comes to my mundane little life, and then I went and it was awesome and now my head is five pounds lighter (approximately). 

And then since I was at the mall anyway, I went and bought some capris and a new skirt, because I'm not an idiot. It's gonna be hellishly warm.