Your Smile On Fire

Dear friendlies,

hello.

I’m not feeling so funny. I’d like to, but I’m not.

However. I will do my best. Because you guys deserve the best.

Aww, how sweet.

Moving on.

So I was in the car with my friend. I’d spent the day out with her and her mom and her grandparents. Because I’m lovely like that.

So there.

And anyway, we were in the car driving back and suddenly she dropped an A-bomb on me. (I only said A-bomb so I could be all Jan-from-The-Office and go, “Really, Jordyn? Really? She dropped an atomic bomb on you?) And the bomb was…

HER PHONE CAN READ TEXT MESSAGES.

And apparently mine can too?

It’s kinda creepy. It’s this monotone voice AND IT KNOWS WHAT LOL STANDS FOR. And the voice pronounces things oddly. Like she pronounces “don’t” as Don-Tee. But only sometimes.

It’s kinda cool, honestly. But also creeps me out. BECAUSE MY SHINY ORANGE PHONE KNOWS EVERYTHING MY FRIENDS AND I TELL EACH OTHER. Is that scary?

Like the voice knows that we use ‘ha ha’ and ‘lol’ waaayyyy too often. And also she says everything very robotic and monotone except for the word sad. The voice seems to like to drag that one out a bit, like this little computerized lady voice is really putting some EMOTION into that one. Maybe she’s thinking of her dead grandparents or her ex or the time she totally ran over that puppy in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

I don’t know. Computerized Text Reading Lady just has some hidden depths I guess.

Today was one of those good days that is just good. And I have too much in my head to write it all down, too many possibilities for posts. So instead of boring you with the details of my day (meeting, lunch, work), I’ve decided I’m just going to start my series of posts about my closest friends.

And I’ll start with the post about Ash, because, if for no other reason, she’s the one I’ve known the longest.

Ash was a doctor’s daughter. It just happened that back in Arizona a lot of my friends had parents who were doctors. At one point there was pretty much a group of us, a bunch of doctors’ kids, and me, the pilot’s daughter. Our parents all knew each other, which I was always confunkled by, asking my dad how in the world he knew all the doctors.

But anyway.

Me and Ash had gone to school together forever. In first grade I didn’t even really know her name and we weren’t friends but it was her group (the very same group, more or less, that I became a part of during sixth grade), and her in particular, that always asked me to play Hot Lava Monster with them. Now, I used to assume that Hot Lava Monster was just one of those playground games that ALL KIDS know, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it was just a local game. Whatever, it’s a complicated game of tag. And she was always asking me to play with them and I was always saying no, shaking my head, being embarrassed of how tired I got when I ran. How I couldn’t run.

Second grade went by. Third, fourth, fifth grades went by. And then we were in sixth grade, the both of us plus part of her “group” in Mr. A’s class. I sat at the same cluster of desks as them and I remember choosing them when I didn’t know anyone in the class, because they looked like nice, unassuming, friendly girls.

What happened next was this: I became part of the group. The four of us ate lunch together, joked together, did the yearbook page together. Sometimes their other friends would join us. And slowly it happened. I went from being that girl that they included because she sat next to them, to just one of the gang. This time period is also surrounded by other things that happened, things like my heart surgery and my dad going to work for one of Ash’s other friends that I didn’t know. I don’t know what those two things had to do with the first thing, but somehow they all seemed intertwined together.

Seventh grade…

eighth grade…

ninth grade…

and all this time me and Ash are becoming better friends. We never hang out outside of school; we never call on the phone and we rarely email, but we are undisputedly the quietest of the group. Our sense of humor seems slightly different from theirs and we often share quiet jokes that the rest of them don’t get. We are in few of the same classes but we often meet between classes, and always at lunch. She is sweet and kind and always seems to notice me more than our other friends do. When we stand in a circle, she’s the one making sure I’m not on the outside, she’s the one cluing me in on the conversation when I’m out of the loop. I can tell by looking at her what sort of mood she’s in and on days when she seems sad and less jokey than the others, than she normally is, I just smile at her and try to be there for her the way a friend is. I ask how she’s doing, ask if anything’s wrong, and when she says no and I don’t entirely believe her, I just let it go. Because I think people should be allowed to be sad if they feel sad. There are times when I am like this too, days before the move (or at least before I was allowed to tell anyone about it) when I don’t feel like talking to anyone, ever, when I just want to be alone. On those days she is the only one I talk to and she never pushes, is always there, and always her quiet smile seeming to assure me that I’ve got a friend.

Don’t mistake me: we weren’t best friends, we weren’t even outside-of-school friends. We didn’t talk about everything, we didn’t talk a lot at all. But she was always there and there was never any doubt that she cared.

After the move I lose touch. I lose touch with other friends. Michael, Lee, Hannah, Taylor H., Kristen, Kelly, Lacey, even Kelsey whose class I was in all through elementary school I barely talk to. There are months were me and Ash don’t talk too, but then things change. I ask how people are doing and she tells me. We share the stories that happen in our lives. I tell her how lonely I am, how I have no friends, and she doesn’t blame me as others have, or say that it’s because I’m too quiet; she knows I’m quiet because she’s the same. We talk about boys and I tell her about the guy I like. Later I tell her when it falls through and she is there. She tells me about the guy she likes, a guy I knew, and I am happy for her. We talk about religion and spirituality with a mutual respect although our beliefs are quite different. I ask questions about her beliefs and she asks about mine and we never argue points.

One day I go out alone, shopping (for books, obviously) and then to eat. It’s fun, but I get home a little bit melancholy, wishing I didn’t spend so many days alone. But I’d left my computer on while I was out and when I get home there’s a message from Ash.

 

hey i know you’re ‘away’ but i just wanted to say hi! i haven’t talked to you in a while hope you’re doing well!

And after all this time the big thing about Ash is still that she’s always on my same team.

I’m. So. Tired.

I don’t even know why, but I am.

Also, have you guys seen Camp Rock? Because it is like a zillion times better than stupid High School Musical. I actually really liked this one! Although I still say Disney Channel needs some better dialogue writers because EVERYTHING SOUNDS SO CHEESY. (The embarrassing thing is that I ALMOST BOUGHT THE CAMP ROCK SOUNDTRACK YESTERDAY… and, um, I still might.)

But anyways. I managed to clean my gunked-up CDs last night and now I’ve got the pleasure of listening to a Fountains of Wayne CD that doesn’t skip. So, yay!

But I bet you’re wondering what’s been going on in my life lately.

Well. I’ll tell you.

My dad is still gone. And I still miss him. And then next week my mom jets off to go see him and me and Taylor the Lovely are left to fend for ourselves for two weeks. Although that really isn’t as bad as it sounds; it’s not as if we live in the Artic and have to hunt for our food or anything. It will be fine. It will be fun. I am just a little nervous and scared. I know I’m technically an “adult,” but I don’t feel like it and this is a little nerve-wracking. But it will be fine. We will go see Hancock or something. (I want to see Wall-E too but the little sister says she DOESN’T LIKE PIXAR. What kind of human being IS SHE? Doesn’t like The Beatles, doesn’t want to see Wall-E… how sad.)

I started my new job. Yay! I have income! This is very good news on the Mac front. Also it is not nearly as boring as my last job, so that’s good.

Yesterday I ran into one of the ladies from the writers’ critique group I used to go to. She works at Starbucks and she talked me into coming back to the group this next Thursday. Which is. Um. Well. Let’s see… I don’t mind going back; the group wasn’t particularly helpful to me but I still kind of enjoyed it. However, I quit going way back when. Way back when BEFORE I had my essay published in Red. So I’ll have to tell them about it. And I just don’t know why this is freaking me out so much BUT IT TOTALLY IS. One thing’s for sure: I’m not reading it in front of them. That would be way too embarrassing. It’s one thing to read in front of strangers and friends and another thing entirely to read such a personal piece in front of people I kind-of-but-don’t-really know. Besides that usually when I read it there’s a point where I almost start crying and that’s just not cool. So yeah. Not reading it.

But I am going to try and set up a reading at THE MOST AWESOME BOOKSTORE IN THE WORLD (I know, I know, I say that about pretty much every bookstore - what’s your point?) when the paperback comes out. So that’ll be good except it’ll probably just be me and none of the other girls (I don’t think any of them live around here) or Amy (or wonderful editor). Sad sad.

AND OMG I’M WATCHING BROTHERHOOD 2.0 AND THE NEW BOOK IN THE BLURBING BOOK CLUB IS CATCHER IN THE RYE!! Which is awesome because I haven’t done that blurbing book club yet because there hasn’t been a book I cared to read but I LOVE CATCHER IN THE RYE SO MUCH. Also, how awesome would it be to have a copy of Girl at Sea signed by John Green? VERY AWESOME. Probably awesomer than having a copy of one of his own books signed by him. Because I’m weird like that.

Anyway, to sum up: I like Camp Rock, my Fountains of Wayne CD is working, my life currenly involves my new job, my old writing group, Dad being gone, and I want a Maureen Johnson book signed by John Green. (Or a John Green book signed by Maureen Johnson; I’m not picky.)

Okay I really do have something to talk about.

Problem: I can’t figure out how to say it.

Solution: Talk about something else.

Like this picture.

Oh wait.

A bad thing to do when you’re writing a blog post of your own is to go check out MJ’s blog. Because suddenly your mind becomes full of shiny pink Vespas and bunny rabbits and when you finally get back to your own blog you have no idea what you were supposed to be doing there in the first place.

But I think I was talking about frozen penguins. Or something like that.

Anyway, my mom has this Styrofoam cooler. She brought it home from work, so I’m almost afraid to ask what was in it before it came into her possession. My general rule in dealing with this thing is to STAY AWAY. Or, you know, that was the general rule until I saw the sticker on it. The sticker pictured below, the one I had to capture with my camera.

This is the sticker.

My fear is that this sticker, the penguin picture with the red SLASH through it, means DO NOT STORE FROZEN PENGUINS IN THIS THING.

Which worries me, really. Because in order for warnings that come with symbols to be on something, there has to be a need for it, right? I mean those no smoking signs are clearly around to keep people from smoking, and the THIS CUP IS HOT warning on your coffee cup is there because we’re all idiots who don’t realize that coffee might be warmish.

I get that.

But this one just freaks me out. Because really, how many people are going around toting frozen penguins in their Styrofoam coolers? Are there a lot? Is that why they’re on the endangered list? (They are on the endangered list, right? I didn’t just make that up?) Is there an underground league of people who store penguins in these coolers or something? If so, what do they call themselves? And are they for good or for evil?

Obviously the warning sticker would say they’re for evil. Like, these are the people who kill penguins and then sell them on the black market or something.

But maybe this underground league is just horribly misunderstood. Maybe what they really do is rescue penguins and then send them up to the North Pole where they can live in happyness and ice for the rest of their natural lives.

I don’t know about you guys, but I like to think that the Underground Penguin League are the good guys. (The bad guys, obviously, are KAOS.)

**note for redthebook readers... sorry if I sometimes forget to post posts over here. I've only missed a few but it still bugs me.**

Following up on years zero through six, here are years seven through twelve in the life of The Jordyn.

Year Seven.

We (which in this case refers to my family: me, Taylor the Lovely, and our mom and dad) move to Texas. I am waving goodbye to Granma as l possibly can see her. I am crying. I am not happy about leaving. Texas surprises me; it is not the mountain landscape I am accustomed to, but instead is flat. Everywhere you look: flat. There is no snow and we have tornado drills at school and it is HOT.

I remember a best friend named Afrin, a girl named Nishi who everyday told me that Jordyn was a boy’s name, and a second grade teacher I will never forget. I remember afterschool daycare, a tornado warning, and that creepy old Criter house that my dad was always teasing us about venturing into. (You guys, this place was really creepy, and I’m not just saying that because I was seven at the time; it really was.) I also remember letters from Lu and Janet and Granma, the picture Lu sent me of Bradley and Madley (so little at the time), and Granny asking me over the phone if I had a boyfriend yet (which I found very very odd considering I was in second grade).

Year Eight.

We are not in Texas for long; when I am eight we move back home. We arrive in time for Clint’s high school graduation. When his name is called everyone cheers, louder than is cheered for anyone else, and Little Jordyn feels special because she is his cousin NIECE, I’m his niece, not sure why I keep thinking cousin.

Year Nine.

It is third grade and a variety of things happen. Mason (Clint’s son, my cousin) is born. I am in the ELP (Extended Learning Program) class with Olivia and Keegan. Olivia is in love with Keegan this year and Keegan keeps m&ms in his pockets (Olivia is no longer in love with him, but he might still keep m&ms in his pockets… that’s the way to become valedictorian, folks!) (Yes, Keegs was one of the valedictorians. Do you capitalize valedictorian?)

Also our ELP class gets fishies and me and Olivia, (if I remember correctly) much to the chagrin of Katie, get to choose names for two of them. We have one named Bubbles and one, I think, named Star. I don’t remember who named which one.

Year Ten.

This is the age I, for a long time, wanted to stay forever. It was the year Quinn (yet another cousin - Janet’s first baby) is born and the year I am in fourth grade.

Something odd that happened in fourth grade was that I had a crush on a boy (notthe odd part, although he was the first boy I like liked, lol) and the ENTIRE CLASS FOUND OUT. I don’t know how this happened and I don’t know how I was so oblivious to it. Well, wait. Oblivious isn’t the right word; I knew, I just didn’t care too much. I guess I was hard to embarrass back in fourth grade, which is impossible to believe now. I must have just been so busy making up the alien language and pretending my grandpa’s broken down lawn mower was a spaceship.

Man, I was a weird ten year old. (No, this hasn’t diminished, although I no longer pretend to time travel or be an alien. Or a spacegirl who DISCOVERS ALIENS.)

Year Eleven.

Eleven eleven eleven. What can I say about year eleven except that when Taylor the Lovely read my journal from this time she made a mention of how many mean girls there were in my fifth grade class. Which, you know, is an entirely true statement. I did not like being eleven. I probably hated it more than any other year, which is saying a lot when you consider…

Year Twelve.

I know that before this I had stuff that happened. Heart surgeries and kindergarten tachycardia and the like, but year twelve is probably 83% (if not more) of the reason I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE ASSUME THAT JUST BECAUSE I AM YOUNG I AM HEALTHY AND HAVEN’T GONE THROUGH ANYTHING.

Come on people. Wise up. Sick people are everywhere.

There were two surgeries this year, tons of x-rays, too many night spent in hospital beds, and fifty thousand episodes of The Cosby Show. First there was the Fontan procedure, which is an open heart surgery that basically involves a surgeon rerouting the plumbing in your heart. The second was getting a Herrington (sp?) rod put in my back, which isn’t exactly pleasant. We travelled FAR FAR AWAY for these surgeries because apparently not every surgeon thinks bloodless heart surgery/back surgery is necessarily the smartest thing to do.

The surgeries went well and what I remember of them isn’t so much the actual medical stuff, but watching nonstop episodes of The Cosby Show because it always seemed to be on, some doctor putting me on a weird diet for some rediculous reason that I think had to do with sodium and which they quickly took me off of because at twelve I was NOT someone who needed to lose weight, having a nurse who always said “pee pee” like I was a two year old, getting a teddy bear from my dad’s company or from people at my dad’s company or something like that, going back to school between surgeries and having everyone in my class give me get well cards and banners, my sister pretending (and really believing?) she could speak spanish, the family around me, and wanting a Milky Way bar, as well as a Nachos lunchable so badly when I was on my “diet.” (What can I say friendlies - when all you’re doing is watching tv, COMMERCIALS WORK!)

Once again, I DON’T DIE. But I do start junior high in a BACK BRACE, which is probably on my Top Twenty List of Horrors, and I’m really (really really really) not the sort of person to be vain like that.

The plan had been growing in my mind for a while and today I finally bit the bullet: I bought me and Taylor the Lovely digital cameras.

Target. Red Nikon Coolpix (yes, we both have the same color). Yeah, it was a lot of money, especially since I got her one too. But I’m happy.

So happy.

 This is the camera. Well, it’s Tay’s camera… which is exactly like mine.

ISN’T IT CUTE?

Haha. I’ll try to do a real post later tonight and will probably be posting pics soon too possibly. So stay tuned.

I am always second place, always almost good enough, always the leftover.

Seventh grade, science class. It was the honors class so a good portion of my friends were in the class. And while I wasn’t Miss Popularity, I was never Miss Unpopular either; I had more than enough friends, really I did. And because of the whole “honors student” thing, there were always a lot of us in the same classes. So if I had to guess I’d say that I probably had at least five or six friends in that science class seventh grade. (Five or six friends in one science class! I can barely claim that many friends the world over nowadays!) Yet when we paired up with lab partners who was the last one?

Me.

I was friends with so many, but not good enough friends that they wouldn’t pick someone else over me. In the end I wound up with Molly because the majority of her friends were in other classes and she had a little bit of the same Second Place Syndrome that I do.

In eighth grade science it was the same thing. Except in that class we had an odd number of students so since I was literally the last one without a partner, our teacher made the girl who was his assistant that period, but not really part of our class, be my partner for the frog dissection.

Because nobody wanted me as a partner more than they wanted someone else as a partner.

And weirdly, sadly, this seems to be a pattern for my life. I feel like I always care about others more than they care about me, like if everyone in the world made a list of the ten friends who matter most to them my friends would always be higher up on my list than I would be on theirs. Like I have stories about everyone else while their stories are always of others. I realize this is a very pathetic way to think, but sometimes I get to thinking it and wondering: do I really care about others more than they care about me (and if so, why?), or is it just like I’ve been told once or twice before: that I don’t see myself the way others do, that I see myself as more of a loser than I am.

Is this feeling a reality or is it a product of my jealousies?

And why do I struggle so much with jealousy; could it be that I’m still trying to build my confidence back up to that glorious level I remember it being back when I was fourteen? Because really, I thought I was doing good but the smallest things will bring me down a few notches.

Moving was the first confidence sinker. I was different from the other girls in every superficial way possible and it did bother me. I looked twelve when they looked seventeen; I was into (and am into) books while they were into fashion. I had been listening to Alan Jackson when I was younger while they had been listening to the Spice Girls. (Really? People really listened to the Spice Girls? Even now I find it hard to believe.)

The sleepover was the second confidence sinker. Yes, Jordyn, wear your blue jeans and your western looking blouse and your not-old-but-not-new sneakers with your frizzy dark hair; I’m sure you’ll fit right in. (The theory that if you’re happy with yourself it can’t bother you when you stick out like a sore thumb is a LIE, folks. It still hurts.) Dancing to the Spice Girls, being ignored by nearly everyone, and feeling so out of place when we wandered around the mall were marks of a torturous night. One girl’s mom actually CAME AND APOLOGIZED TO ME FOR “THROWING ME INTO THE LIONS’ DEN” AS SHE SO KINDLY PUT IT.

Too much friendlessness was the third confidence sinker. Realizing my old friends were going on without me; losing friends and not being able to gain any new ones, having all my attempts knocked down, feeling so out of it. Not fun, friendlies, NOT FUN. And the worst part was feeling like it was all my fault, like if I had just been more interested in what the other girls were interested in, more aware of things like the Spice Girls, more outgoing, more pretty, then I would have had friends. The sad thing is that I still believe that. If I had came out of Arizona and been my sister at fifteen instead of ME AT FIFTEEN I’m sure I would have had friends.

The fourth confidence sinker involved a crush on a boy that did not go so well and thinking that even when I felt like I was getting along with someone here, I really wasn’t, and like I was so incredibly stupid for liking him. Mostly though, what it involved was losing someone I had considered something of a friend even back when I thought I would never have another friend again, someone I felt comfortable around.

The fifth confidence sinker was four months of nothing but drama, being a naive girl who didn’t realize EVERYTHING SHE WAS DOING was just a magnet for petty drama. Feeling even more people slipping away from me, alienated, after I thought there was no one left to alienate even if I had wanted to. It was thinking, oh no, this is my life now; I’m that girl who has no steady friends, that girl who keeps pushing people away and she’s not even sure how to stop it.

And life goes on.

Eventually moving to a different state should become a hazy memory,

a sleepover is forgotten by everyone except the girl it was awful for, 

prolonged friendlessness becomes such a state of being that your bestie (who lives too, too far away) points out that maybe you’ve been without friends so long that you’ve begun to accept it as being your life and maybe that’s not such a good thing,

the heartbreak becomes a thing of the past, so far back it feels stupid to even be able to remember,

and the drama becomes something disgusting to think about.

And I should be good as gold, brand new, well, because none of the above should matter in the least and I hate to admit that while the actual events don’t really matter anymore, the feelings they produced still do. The doubts, fears, insecurities, sadnesses, and anger still linger. They still have the power to make me less than the girl I am, still have the power to make me forget how amazing my life is as a whole; how incredible my friends are (in spite of the fact that 96% are so far away), how lucky I am (to even be alive), how many things make me smile every day.

Mostly they still have the power - much as I hate it - to make me feel less than. Jealous, insecure, unsure, weary and tired; to make me feel not myself, like I’m going to be stuck in second place forever.

* Note: I have debated myself as to whether or not to put some of these things in here, especially seeing as how I know some of my readers are people who KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I’M REFERRING TO (and should feel free to comment - hopefully I did not offend), but in the end personal expression won out, so here it is.

**Note for Redthebook: I wrote this last night on wordpress and am just now getting around to posting it here.

Another Project Self post.

I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, to make a list of one hundred things that make me happy, and I encourage you all to do the same. (And if you do on your blog, please comment/link to it so I can read it!) I think a lot of times we get so preoccupied in life, so caught up in the negative or humdrum things, that we forget to notice the little things that make us really happy. And I don’t know about you, but it’s the seemingly insignificant things in life that put a smile on my face. An email from a friend, a glass of iced tea, watching The Office on DVD. That sort of stuff.

So here’s my list.

One Hundred Things That Make The Jordyn Happy:

1. Iced tea, also known as the miracle drink.
2. Buying CDs and listening to them.
3. Buying books and reading them.
4. Truly awesome music, and more often than not it’s country.
5. My little sister.
6. The way Michelle is always there for me even when we don’t see eye to eye.
7. Coffeehouses, even though I don’t drink coffee.
8. Get Smart.
9. The game that has no name but has been around in my household forever. The music one, where you have to say the artist before anyone else does.
10. Wonderful, cute, cozy t-shirts. They make me feel comfortable.
11. My stuffed doggy, Pongo.
12. Writing in my paper journals.
13. Bloggeryness.
14. Finding beautiful and memorable quotes.
15. Discovering a new song that makes my heart happy. (The latest is Heidi Newfeild’s Johnny and June.)
16. Psychology Today.
17. Getting positive feedback on my writing.
18. The act of writing, the feeling of fingers on a keyboard or a pen on a page.
19. High fives.
20. Bubba Shot the Jukebox.
21. Phone calls with Sarah.
22. Letters from Granma.
23. My friendship with Erika, which grew after bonding over boy troubles and Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.
24. Realizing I am not the only one.
25. Jim and Pam and the rest of The Office.
26. Getting with the four.
27. Recommending books or music to people and having them enjoy them. (I am a master of the book recommends.)
28. Talking to Ash, who is one of those people who is just so sweet and caring and awesome.
29. Being able to have an intelligent, interesting discussion with someone who is has a different opinion than I.
30. Making progress with whatever novel I’m currently working on.
31. Inside jokes.
32. People close to me being happy.
33. When it snows.
34. When it rains
35. The family - immediate and extended.
36. Getting mail.
37. Memories, which are, yes, bittersweet, but make me happy in spite of that fact.
38. Feeling like something I wrote is actually good, being proud of it.
39. Kids.
40. Boardwalks, carnivals, fairs.
41. Singing in my car when I’m alone. It’s the only time I can’t embarrass myself singing and even then it’s doubtful.
42. Having fun playing board games with groups of people.
43. Laughing over stupid stuff.
44. Praying.
45. Jones soda. (Yes, I went straight from “praying” to “Jones soda.”)
46. Food Network, especially Unwrapped, Ace of Cakes, and Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.
47. Finding favorites on flickr.
48. Honest apologies, even the kind that come late.
49. Beauty in the everyday.
50. Candid pictures that capture real moments.
51. My name.
52. Bookstores.
53. Bubbles.
54. Trying on hats and sunglasses.
55. Lip gloss, as long as it smells good. (I also love Bath & Body Works.)
56. Doodling hearts and song lyrics in the margins of my pages.
57. Notebooks.
58. Italian cream sodas.
59. Nerds, both the candy and the people.
60. Corny jokes.
61. Beloved characters like Curious George, Charlie Brown, Goofy, and Tinkerbell.
62. Beauty and the Beast, especially the scene with Belle walking through town with her nose in a book. That was honestly what inspired me to learn to read and walk at the same time.
63. Radiator Springs.
64. The time capsule, which for some reason I keep calling the TIME MACHINE.
65. Jammies.
66. Wacky socks.
67. Cute love stories. (I suggest: Scrambled Eggs at Midnight.)
68. Too many books to name.
69. Too many songs to name.
70. The moon and the stars.
71. Airplanes, airports, aviation, flying.
72. Funny commercials.
73. Carousels.
74. Colorfulness. Green, blue, yellow, red, brown, all of the above.
75. You’ve Got Mail.
76. Just in general, friends far and near.
77. Getting that zoom feeling, which I tried to explain to someone once but failed miserably.
78. Hugs.
79. Feeling like maybe I can handle growing up.
80. Knowing that Jehovah God is there and that he cares about me.
81. Riding in cars with people. (Just not always when I’m the one driving.)
82. Exploring other places.
83. Trying.
84. Brotherhood 2.0 and Nerdfighters.
85. My grandparents’ house.
86. Fireworks.
87. Spontaneous laughter.
88. Feeling like I’m bonding with someone else, cheesy as that sounds.
89. Confidence.
90. My shiny orange cellphone (and writing myself notes on it).
91. People who know how to spell and when people write phone numbers like so: (000) 555-1234
92. Disney-Pixar Monopoly.
93. Finding Red in bookstores.
94. Giving people nonsense nicknames.
95. When people I don’t know smile at me or say hello.
96. Song lyrics. (Yes, I know a lot of these things relate to music.)
97. Randominity.
98. Making up words.
99. The numbers 99, 7, 86, 101, and 18.
100. So much more.

Hello friendlies.

I saw Red at another bookstore today.

Not. Even. Kidding.

Clint and the kids wanted to go to the beach again, so me and Mom dropped them off and then wandered around one of the areas near the beach and found this brilliant bookstore (the one my friend’s mom had wanted to show me when I went to the graduation dinner). It was an indie bookstore, which I loved, because THE PEOPLE HAD ACTUALLY READ THE BOOKS!! And so I asked some dude who worked there if they had the book and we found it. I told him I was one of the authors and was hoping to set up some sort of reading there, so he gave me the email for their events coordinator and I’m so excited. Hopefully I can get some more girls out here and make it a more-than-one-person reading/signing if it happens. That would be absofruitly awesome.

(I seem to be saying “absofruitly” a lot lately.)

So that part was awesome, and also it was ironic because what book happens to be right close to Red? THE MOTHER-DAUGHTER PROJECT. Man, that just cracked me up considering the topic of my essay was fighting with my own mom.

Pictorial evidence?

 Also, notice how the book is face out? It was spine out before but after I told the dude I was one of the writers he turned it face out, which I thought was pretty awesome.

And in semi-related news, let me share this story:

I was standing in the teens section of this amazing bookstore and one of the people who worked there came up and asked if I needed help finding anything or if I wanted a recommendation. And after I told him I would love a recommend, the following conversation happened.

 

him: Well what kind of books do you read?

 

me: Teen books, but not usually scifi or fantasy. Mainstream stuff I guess.

 

him: Okay, so like about relationships, that kind of stuff?

 

me: Yeah.

 

him: So you’ve probably read The Clique and Gossip Girl then.

 

me: [only slightly aghast at this insinuation] No. No, no, no.

 

him: Well that’s good.

Of course, no offense meant to those of you who do like those books but, I’m just not a fan so I thought that was pretty cool.

This idea is taken right from Nothing But Bonfires’ timelines series. Today, years zero through six.

Year Zero.

I am born. A month later I’m flown down to the valley in an emergency because apparently I’m turning blue or something. Oops, there’s something wrong with my heart and lots of flurrying to save me; surgery and pediatric cardiologist and probably lots of frantic phone calls flying around my family. I imagine them the way all phone calls of this type go; “So wait - what’s going on?” “Huh?” “Is she okay?”

That type of thing. I’m sure it took years off of everyone’s lives, especially my parents, and it is only the beginning.

But let me save you the drama: I DON’T DIE.

Year One.

Relatively uneventful. I am a baby and I am still bald and tiny and chubby. (Yes, I used to be chubby back when I was a wee little tyke.) I’m pretty much the first kid in the family and thinking back on it, the fact that I was THE ONLY ONE is a little scary. Aunts, uncles, parents, grandparents… and Jordyn. How strange.

Year Two.

Also uneventful. I don’t remember anything from these uber-early years, but there was no Taylor the Lovely; me and my parents lived in a trailer next to my grandparents house, and when Grandma would babysit me Clint was always around. I seem to recall him, Lu, and Janet having lots of fun teasing me mercilessly. Especially him. HE WAS RUTHLESS. (Of course, I was two so I was probably something of a baby.) I remember not liking his friends and I remember Janet and Lu saying, “Jordyn, your hair’s brown.” Even though I kept trying to tell them it was black.

Guess what? It’s brown. Of course by the time I finally figured it out I had a first grade teacher who thought it was black and looked at me like I was stupid when I told her it was brown. I felt so mad too, I was like, they’ve been telling me it’s brown since I was a baby and now you’re telling me it’s black and I don’t know who to believe!!

Year Three.

Taylor is born and I still don’t like the name “Taylor” more than the lovely names I had chosen (Purple Curtain Rod or Orange Curtain Rod). I stay with Lu that night and Richard is working (okay now I’m eighteen and just SUDDENLY that doesn’t make sense to me; it was midnight… okay whatever, moving on) and this was before Bradles and Madles so I was sleeping in the bed with Lu and then in the middle of the night she woke me up and asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital to see my mom and the baby sister, so we went in the middle of the night.

And my first memory of my sister is this, which my mom says is sad, but it’s really not:

I’m standing outside the hospital room and the lights are off, it is dark. In the darkness I can’t see anything, but I can hear a baby SCREAMING AS LOUD AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. And in that moment, the first thought I have of my just-born baby sister, is, I hope she isn’t going to be this loud forever.

She is though.

Year Four.

Bradley is born and I want his parents to name him Benjamin. As you can see, my name choices have become much more, uh, conventional in the last year. Lu is on bedrest with him and when she goes to the hospital Grandma goes to and Clint is left babysitting me, which at the time seemed really strange. I don’t remember what we did, but I remember thinking it was cool that he was babysitting me. Mostly what I remember though, is that even before Brad was born I was really excited for him. It was almost like I knew how awesome he was going to be before he was even here.

So he was born. And he was a baby, and at first Taylor looked at him funny (we have proof of this in a picture), like what is this alien baby doing on my turf? But then they became friends.

And there were three.

Year Five.

I go to school! I have a red plastic backpack with characters from some tv show I’ve never seen, but everyone in my class seems to love it and in fact me and my best friend Emily trade backpacks (hers is Minnie Mouse) for a day. Various things happen in kindergarten: I make friends (Emily, Jaymeson, Lacy, Kelsey), Jaymeson steals my name card every day, letter people come, I lose my beloved teddy bear, and I go to the hospital (yes, again) when I have a bout of tachycardia during circle time. (And yes, I just said a “bout of tachycardia,” as if I had a headache or some other common ailment. Not that headaches are even that common in kindergarten.)

It was Emily’s “special day” too, and I had to miss it. Just because my heart was suddenly beating so wildly that I couldn’t see and briefly considered that maybe I was spontaneously going blind. Within seconds, it seems, of telling the teacher what is going on, I am laying down in the nurses office and kind of out of it (did I pass out? I don’t know) and there are firefighters fussing over me. Aaand of course now I realize they probably weren’t firefighters, they were probably EMTs, and they probably weren’t fussing over me like old grandmas, they were probably trying to save my life.

I’ll spare you the drama, and there was plenty of it: I LIVE AGAIN. (But boy, these brushes with death really take it out of a kid. No wonder I’m always worn out.)

Year Six.

Yep, that’s right: MADISONA IS BORN!!! And I wanted to name her Lacey, after my friend and also because I thought it was the most beautiful name ever.

Like Taylor, Madi is also crying the first time I see her in the hospital room with her mom. However, she STOPS CRYING when she sees me, not even kidding you, and it marks the beginning of many (many, many) years of trying to get the girl to calm down.

And now there are four of us and I am no longer the only one in the family.

**Yes, it did occur to me while I was writing this that my early years seem to be split between someone being born and me having some sort of medical emergency. I don’t know why that is, but it does make things exciting.

• I sat and talked with people who, yes, were three years younger than me, but really super nice. Plus I got their phone numbers so maybe we’ll get to hang out again? Honestly, I don’t mind having friends younger than me.
• I gave my friend her graduation gift, which she told me she loved. A relief. Hopefully she wasn’t lying. Lol.
• Me and my friend and sister walked down near the beach, up on this really grassy area. The ocean looked absolutely beautiful, like something out of a movie, and I tried to take a picture of it with my phone but the flash turned everything all white and without the flash things were too dark to see. But trust me, it was amazing. I wish I had a picture to show, but maybe it’s the sort of thing where you’d have to be there.
• I ordered some sort of macaroni and cheese. It was way spicy, but very good.
• I took pictures of people when they weren’t looking or when they didn’t know. It was way fun.
• I feel like my friendship with the girl whose dinner it was, the only friendship I really have here, is still just beginning even though we’ve known each other and kindasorta been friends for about two years now. So I’m happy about that and trying to not do anything to screw it up, like I seem to have a pattern of doing to my friendships here.