Merry Christmas

Today I went to Barnes and Noble and spent 115 dollars and several cents. I bought eight books. Eight. Although, to be fair, I'm only keeping six of them. One was for Gretchen and one was something that I originally bought for me and will struggle to part with but which I decided to give to you, Emilea, because your birthday gift is painfully overdue and because I realized that I picked it up for you in the first place. I might have to read/copy some first, though. It'll arrive soon enough. I'm still working on the flip flop.

Anyway, I got a Larry Levis collection- finally!!- and the new Billy Collins and three Evil Young Adult Book-types and a Moleskine weekly planner. I am excited.

I'm in Pennsylvania. I was miserable the first day and a half, but I'm warming up to it. I love my family. And I've been meeting all these new cousins/aunts/uncles that I had no idea existed. And it's funny because a lot of them have the same exact names as my other family members. Like, there is another Megan Barnett, who is twenty-something and about to get married and LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE MEGAN. It's weird. Also, there are writers. Two of them. My cousin Claire went to UNC. Apparently she's award-winning there. I have a cousin who goes to Columbia and majors in neuroscience (in other words, a supergenius cousin). Also... if any of you have like, wierd extended family that you don't know (third cousins, second cousins, removed cousins) do you ever look at a picture of somebody or see them walk in and you're like woah, that guy is (*jen voice*) attractive and then you find out he's related to you and you want to throw up? Because this has happened to me several times in the last few days. It is very disturbing and makes me want to go home because I am not related to anyone there, even distantly.

Something that does not make me want to throw up and/or go home:

My favorite uncle and his gorgeous and funny and fantastic and Burts-Bees-Gift-Box-Giving-To-Caroline girlfriend just got engaged. On Christmas Eve. They've been dating probably just as long as I've been alive. I'm singing at their wedding. All of my aunts cried when they came in and told us. I came pretty close to it. It makes me happy because I've been accidently calling her 'aunt' for forever. And because they're adorable, for middle-aged-people.

As much as I miss being home and all, I like being here for Christmas. It makes me think of how my grandma used to be before she had her stroke, and of walking down the street at night in big heavy coats on Christmas Eve with my dad and my sisters, singing christmas carols and being cliche and stupid, and when I was thirteen and my uncle felt bad because he had promised to come to one of my beach concerts and couldn't so he took me into the city with my aunt and got me a private tour of this big gorgeous concert hall in the city, and that time when Jamie was little and she collapsed on the staircase really late at night and started crying and saying 'too much christmas too much christmas'.

well, I've had just enough this year and I hope so have you.

Love,
Caroline

happy birthday, darling

yeah, okay, i took heather's title, but I was planning on that title for a week. And I couldn't think of another one. I fail. Sorry, Heather. I'm trying to come up with the perfect words, but I can't. You're the one that's good at that. I haven't read Heather's blog yet but I'm sure I'm just repeating everything she said in words that aren't as pretty (which would be why i haven't read it yet). But I'm trying. So here goes.

Emilea, you are probably the kindest person I know. You are so great and wonderful and just so nice. And it's funny, because you are hundreds of miles away, but it doesn't feel like it. You are so there for me in spirit that the gap is bridged. I think that you're a better friend to me than almost anyone who is here all the time. I'm so lucky that I met you two years ago, because without you it would have been way harder (way impossible) for me to get through any of the tiny obstacles of the past year and a half. It doesn't matter what kind of psychotic email or blog post I throw at you- you've always got the perfect words to make me laugh or smile or stop hurting or slap myself and grow up and deal, even if they are Chris Martin's and not yours. And you do tell me to grow up and deal, in kinder words, which is important. So many people will just give you a hug and a pity party, and that's nice, but it takes a real friend and a strong person to tell you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and move on.

Also, you're just an incredible person in general. You are strong and beautiful and a genius and funny and one of the best writers I've ever met. I seriously wish I had your poise and your confidence and your talent and.... you just rock. You just do. You rofl my waffles. I love you so, so, so, so, so much. And even if I wrote this blog for hours and hours I don't have, I couldn't possibly communicate how much.

And if I get into Governor's School, being your adopted sister will be one of the best things about it.

Have a wonderaculous and beautiful and awesome birthday.
Something fantastic coming your way as soon as I can work out the details.

Love, Caroline

we love you very very very very very very very much.

memoirs of an aspiring amnesiac

right so i'm blogging again though i have nothing really to blog about.



i just think that i need to fill up space here. it's too empty. it's too different. i need it to feel natural. i need to be able to look at it without remembering it's purpose. i need...


ack.


i need to forget, is all i need.

i need something to get all of this crap out of my head. or at least push it further backwards. because i don't want it there. i don't want to think about this. and i'm sitting here breaking promises to myself with these stupid stupid words and all i want is to STOP.

or maybe fast-forward a bit.


i was just watching How To Deal, which, for those not aware, is teen romance comedy angst movie at it's very best (if we're not counting John Hughes, at least). it's also loosely sarah dessen (someone like you/that summer) only Macon is not a jerk in the movie.


and i was sitting there and there's this stupid montage that is so incredibly lame and silly and it's like mandy moore and trent ford are running around and eating french fries and climbing on things and driving around and laughing and chasing each other and going to see star wars movie marathons, and for god sakes he is throwing rocks at her window, and all the time they are playing that incredibly cheesy and ridiculous song by Liz Phair, you know, the why can't i breathe, whenever i think about you... song that they play in all of these movies and it's all so dumb and it makes me want to cry because i don't think i'll ever have that.

ack! ack! ack! ack! ack! ack! ackackackackack!

MOVING ON.

---Grace and Jamie just dismantled an entire shelf from their wall (you know, the huge fancy one where they keep their seventeen books and various other, heavier belongings), carried it out of their room, and put it in my closet. Yes. An entire bookshelf, completely full, in my heinously filthy closet. I don't even know how they lifted it. It must have weighed over a hundred pounds. My mom and dad are about ready to kill them. On the upside, they have to do the dishes for me.

---We have a dog for the week and my mother, who is completely dead-set against actually owning a dog, is totally obsessed with it. She dotes on her like, twenty four hours a day. She runs around squealing it's name, singing little songs about it (this isn't weird for her because she does this about me and grace and jamie all the time, but i mean, blondie is a dog). And then today she got pissed at my dad for yelling at the dog after the dog tore up/ate the book that he's reading. The dog is pretty cute but it pretty much ignores me. It's a yellow lab, though, not really the kind of dog that I want. I know they're supposed to be somewhat perfect, but I'd rather have one of those pesky hyper jumpy dogs that aren't tiny-tiny but aren't big either - like a whitie or a yorkie. Or a mutt.

---I HAVE GEORGE SINGLETON BOOK!!!
I haven't read it yet but it looks amazing. It is so pretty and it has a nice cover which signifies that he is not a loser low-budget local author with a crappy cover (not that i am a snob, or anything...). Yeah. These People Are Us. It looks awesome. I love My Sister's Books.

---I don't have to go to sunday school tomorrow... OR EVER AGAIN! YES! That is right! No more incompetent and frustrating teachers! No more stupid preppy kids who I hate! No more watching Marissa and Savannah match! No more arguing with Cam because I have no one else to talk to! NO MORE TOUCHING-SAFETY VIDEOS!!!!!!!!!!! Don't get me wrong. I don't mind going to church. I actually like church most of the time. But sunday school? It sucks. It always sucks.

A Tiny List: Worst Two Moments of Sunday School Ever In The Life of Me.

• Kindergarten. My sixth birthday. We were discussing the sacraments. More specifically, we were discussing marriage. And there was a *cringe* example wedding ceremony. And since it was my birthday, I was granted the massive, joyous privilege of being... the bride. And the groom... luckily, this was at another church up in myrtle beach so I don't know this boy now, but he was gross. he was totally the cootie-having type. and since his birthday was closest out of the boys... ackackackackack. cringe. i hate sunday school. So if we are being technical, my first kiss took place in front of a group of my fellow five-year-old sunday schoolers with some kid who had cooties. yeah. ack.
• Sixth or Seventh grade. Not my birthday. Since we were old and mature, we were not discussing the sacraments... we were discussing the Ten Commandments, more specifically, Thou shalt not commit adultery. And so we're reading this book and the book and the teacher are like 'okay so don't have sex before you're married' and i'm like (in my head), 'good, sure, wasn't planning on it, moving on', and then the book and the teacher are like, 'also, we don't approve of birth control' and i'm like(unfortunately, this time, out loud) 'whoa, wait, WHAT??? BUT WHY??? THAT IS THE MOST RIDICULOUS THING I HAVE EVER HEARD!!'. Yeah. I was kind of the black sheep of seventh grade sunday school for awhile.

Anyway. The reward for ten years of gruesome moments such as those? On October 19, I am officially a Catholic grown-up. And I get all these cool spirit gifts.* And... I GET A PARTY!! That's right. And you are invited! It is a joint party with Ashlee but it's at my house. Come. There will be food, drink, merriment. Also, presents. This party is my only shot at being able to pay for disney world.

--- It's your birthday. :)

I hope it's been amazing. Because YOU are amazing. And no one deserves amazingness as much as you do, especially on their birthdays.

love, love, love to all of you

Caroline

*Okay, I know I must sound very callous and sacreligious and whatnot up here, so just to clarify: I really am excited about the actual confirming part of confirmation. Like, it's kind of a huge deal to me. I just don't know how to convey that without sounding cheesy and lame, so I go with lighthearted amusement. It's a defense mechanism. Anyway. I don't know why I needed this little footnote here. Because I'm ridiculous. But... yeah. it's here. done typing now.