Assessment Time!!

I feel that an assessment of my blog is in ... I don't know the word for here.  Point is, I think it is time for my blog to be assessed.  I'm going to assess it on my own.  However, I do know one or two people read it and BOTH of you are welcome to comment.  Well, ok.  Anyone can comment.  I don't really care.

I've decided that it is as boring as a ... boring as a ...  I'm really having a hard time knowing what it's as boring as because I can't think of anything as boring as my blog...  That's probably not good.  So, boring is bad as far as readership goes, but I'm not really in this for the readership.  It's not like I'm hoping to get famous by "blogging."  (Seriously, I want to know where the word "blog" REALLY came from... maybe I'll blog about it later).  

However, it has gotten me to write.  Granted it's almost always a free-write, so full of grammar and spelling and other such typing issues.  But, for the most part, I think it's been good for me - I think my typing speed has even gone up (which is good since I'd dropped to about 100WPM).  It seems as though I've gotten better at being able to create conversations in my writing.  I have struggled a lot with utilizing dialogue in my writing and I have written several "pieces" in my blogs that involve dialogue.  I already know I can do scene pretty ok.  So now I can at least create dialogue.  Now I gotta learn how to mix the two.  I think maybe I can.

And I have to say that I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to figure dialogue out with the perplexation that is my blog.  So, I think that blogging has been well-worth my time since at some point in my life, I'd like to actually be a writer.  It'd be awesome to be a writer with a good reputation.

Because of the nature of this assessment that I have performed on my own craft, I do not feel that it deserves a letter grade.  I think it boils down to this: it has helped me and bored others.  

Score.  I think that was probably the point in some regard.  It is obvious that I'm not truly a good writer, we knew I'd be boring, and the true point was to get me writing.  

Blog: successful.

Can't Think of a Title

Last night I set my alarm clock for about 7:50 this morning.  I needed to make a phone call at 8 and figured I'd sound too groggy if I woke up at say 7:59... Unfortunately, I made my call at 8:00 and there was no answer.  So I waited and called back at 8:30.  And then 9:00.  Finally, at 9:01, someone answered, "Academy Orthopaedic Clinic, how can I help you?"

"Well," I said, "I think I either broke or sprained my foot last night.  And I should probably come in and see someone."

The girl responded, "Oh, yes, ma'am.  What's your name?  Have you been here before?  And who do you usually see?"

"Kristen Kinzer.  Yes, I've been there and see.... Michelle, I think is her name."

"Can you spell your last name?"  I spelled my name for her and waited for her response.  "Oh, Kristen Kinzer!  You're not just now following up on your last injury, are you?"

I laughed - since that was a year and about 3 weeks ago.  "No, I have a new one."

"Oh, good.  Well... Not good.  But you know what I mean," she said.  Then we went through all the usual questions to set up an appointment.  I went in at 10:30am.

After I gimped my way into the office, I signed in.  I had to redo my paperwork, but the ladies behind the desk had fun with that.  "She's here all the time.  Does it really matter if she refills out the paperwork?"

"Policy is every year.  And it's been just over a year.  Let's not argue it."  So I filled out the paperwork.  And I have moved since then and changed insurance, so it was kind of necessary (really).  As I completed the paperwork, one of the girls asked another, "Is the cast room clean."  I laughed.  Because that's really how it works when I go into the the orthopedic doc.  I get a cast.

Finally, I went to the back and they immediately took me to the cast room - taking me to the exam room is typically a waste of time.  Someone comes in and takes me to the x-ray room.  Every time he positioned my foot, I flinched.  That's kind of how I knew I did some damage.  I have a high pain tolerance and making me flinch typically means something bad happened.

I went back to the cast room.

Michelle comes in, "I haven't seen you in a while!  It's been over a year!  I think that may be a record for ya!  How ya been?  Where ya living?  How's your dog?"

We swapped the non-normal pleasantries as we have a deeper relationship with my orthopedic doctor than most... Since I'm more accident-prone than most, I would say.  

"What'd'ya do this time?" she asked.


"Ha!  I was walking down the hall... At my best friend's house.  And he was behind me.  And he 'accidentally' stepped on the heel of my shoe.  I was in slip-ons, so I tripped.  And then my ankle was twisted, right?"  She nodded her head. "Then my best friend tripped on me.  Now, he's not really a small kid.  He weighs a tad more than me.  And, I mean, I'm not that big, so that's not being rude.  But he tripped on top of me and his knee landed on my foot.  Which of course was twisted."


"Yup.  That would do it.  I imagine you've been thinking of colors the whole time you've been waiting...."  She laughed.

Michelle looked at the x-rays and then picked up my foot.  I flinched when she touched a few spots and that got a, "Yup.  Ya did something.  You don't flinch unless it's bad."  


"Oh, good.  What did I break?  How many pieces of tissue did I pull this time?"


"Well," she said as she rolled her little wheely chair back some, "I don't think you really broke anything this time."  Immediately, my mind thought SCORE!!  She then continued, "You tore your ligament that goes from here to here, which is probably the least painful part.  The thing that hurting you is this tendon that you tore.  It goes from here to ...... here.  And that would be why you can't move your toes!  Plus," she stood up for a second to get a closer look at the x-ray, "It looks like you pulled some bone off.  You know how you do.  You chip the bone when you pull the soft tissue.  You're used to that.  Looks like about three chunks this time." 


"Ah.  Good call, Kristen," I said.  "Way to tear somethin' crucial."


"Well, oddly enough, this is a fairly common injury for football players.  It usually takes place during the tackle.  It will take care of itself without major treatment.  However, you will need to be casted if you don't wear a really good brace.  And you have to wear it all the time.  So, I think I'll cast you."


"All the time?  As in all the time?"  I hate wearing braces and felt that ignoring the cast idea may make her forget about the cast.


"Yes, as in all the time.  You can loosen it a little at night.  But I think you should be in a cast."

"OK.  So I'll go ahead and go with the brace."

"You're going to have to wear it for at least two weeks while being slow and careful and resting and icing.  And then you'll have to come back in if you're still in any pain.  But I'll tell ya this.  You'll probably take six to eight weeks to recover.  And you'll wanna stay gentle with it for at least that long.  Not too often, but sometimes, this kind of injury requires surgery."


"As in where I come in and let ya take a knife to me?"


"Yup.  So wear the brace.  I'm writing you a prescription for the best kind you can get.  And I'll give you instructions to get to the place where you can pick it up.  And you have to have to have to wear it."


I'm sure at this point, I had made a myriad of wonderful facial expressions.  I said, "Ok.  I'll wear the brace.  Surgery would suck."  I got off the table and started hobbling towards the exit.  She, of course, came with me.  And we joked about how my best friend totally owes me now.  She said, "Yeah, he should be like serving you and waiting on your every beck and call.  This'll suck for ya."

I haven't blogged in a while....

...and it's really because I don't have much to say.  And by not much to say, I really mean... I have nothing to say.

It dawned on me a while ago how insignificant the life I have really is.  And how it could slip between my fingers in a matter of seconds.  Today/tonight could be the last few hours of my life.  This may seem morbid - but it's not like I'd be the first person to die young.  And it's also not like this is the first time this thought had crossed my mind.  I've often been concerned about how little I've done with my life.

Here's the thought process:

I'm only 22, but my "goal" in life is to have fun.  That's the whole plan.  And that's not really much of a plan.  So, then I think... "Well, what have I really done with my life?"  This question is me hoping that I've done SOMETHING that has effected SOMEONE in a life-changing way.  This is where I realize that I have truly never done any one thing that was "life-changing" or effective.  I've directed a few plays and have inspired some people to actually pursue theatre.  I've even "rescued" a few plays.  I've directed children's musicals and taught Sunday school.  I was a youth leader for about 4 years and led worship for about 8 years.  I can honestly say that I've made over 12,000 people smile.

I've done a bunch of totally random things.  But I've never done one thing that stood out or made a true, lasting impression on something/someone (outside of knowing many people who are younger than me and scared to let me be in charge of planning games for fear that they may end up playing football with a cow tongue).  I am not someone that people will write about in History Books.  And therein lies my problem (yeah, I know it's my problem).  Sure.  I've probably had a small impact on a few people.  I know I have friends who will have their kids call me their aunt.  And I know I have friends who will tell their kids about me if I never meet them.  

My goal should be to be something historical (which is funny 'cause I hate aging).

I have no idea what I could do to become someone worthy of writing about.  I'm not someone to look up to (not just because I'm barely over 5 feet tall).  So, my point is... I'm 22... This could easily be the last few days I'm alive.  But even if I have only lived a quarter of my life, I have not accomplished much.  If my next 22 years are as unawesome as the last, I will never make a real difference in the world.

I'm not even sure how to begin to attempt beginning to make a difference.  And sometimes I think that may be why I've started blogging.  Maybe one of these random, lame free-writes will get me thinking and get my inspiration for writing rolling again and I'll really get cracking on that book I'm trying to write and then maybe somehow some idiotic, moronic publisher will think it's worthy of publishing and I'll get it published and it'll be worthy of a few people's time and money.  And then maybe they'll each share it with someone who will share it with people and then I'll "have a name for myself" and be able to die knowing that I may have made some sort of a difference in a group of people's lives. 

Who knows.

B as in Bagina

I’ve never really thought of myself as “your average girl.” I’m kinda a freak for one thing. I really have no “normal” setting. I’m rather weird. I have few emotions considering the fact that I’m a possessor of a vagina. I hate most girls. And, honestly… I’m more man than half the dudes I know.

(Damn. Really. Blogging is weird. I’m typing about me.)

The point to the first paragraph is that I love to hang out with dudes and hate to hang out with groups of girls. I miss every girl night I can and have never, ever been to a “women’s retreat” or any such nonsense. I barely like bachelorette parties. I like to play some video games (though, I don’t hump my own dead body when I play Halo…). I have heard the following conversation too many times:

Guy 2: I was checking out with this chick –--

Guy 1: Dude, mixed company.

Guy 2: Kekky’s not a girl. She’s one of the guys.

Guy 3: Well, not really one of the guys. She’s just… Kekky.

Guy 1: Good point.

Guy 2: Ok… So I was checking out this chick and…

Yeah. I’m not a guy… Because I have a vagina and boobs. But I’m not a chick either ‘cause I’m too awesome. I’ve never really been sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. I’m guessing good because I hate how chicks are so emotional.

Here comes a not-so-well-planned subject change. (I’ve been called the Queen of Non-Sequitors before.)

Recently, I’ve been “rejected” twice by dudes. Not that I put myself out there all hardcore and told ‘em I liked ‘em or anything. But we were sorta dating or whatever and then suddenly they were “hanging out with another girl.” So both of these guys were actually pretty decent guys. Nothing had been “made official” and none of us used the words “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” but there was that overarching knowledge that we were “seeing each other.” So, with the first guy, I was kinda pissed. My only reason was because he used the words, “…really like you, and if we ever get married…” Obviously, that wigged me out pretty good. Then the second guy said that he felt (yeah, he “felt”… that’s creepy) that I didn’t really prioritize him and didn’t spend enough time with him.

I only gave full details of these two situations to a few people. There wasn’t really any reason to why I only told a few people besides that I didn’t care too much. However, after the second guy, I realized that I’m really not great at being “rejected” and it’s probably only because I normally do the rejecting (it’s true even though it sounds wicket cocky). But all of the people I talked to about the two situations had the same basic feelings which are basically: Kekky is so low-maintenance and so easily “pleased” that guys forget about her. She doesn’t get too excited for these “opportunities,” so the dudes lose interest based on the fact that she doesn’t seem interested enough.

Yeah. So, the fact that I was bugged at all by these two guys probably means that I’m not actually excited about dying alone. But I know damn good and well that I will never be happily married because committedness and taking care of people sounds like an uber sucky idea. I’ll be a terrible mother and have no interest and shoving a child out of my vagina. So… I guess we’ll just see what happens. It all boils down to not wanting to die alone but most definitely wanting to remain single. Weird.

Befun.

I am getting another tattoo.  Well, technically, I’ll be getting at least two more tattoos within the next 10 months.  It was part of my New Year’s Resolution – two new tats and two new piercings.  But one of the tats doesn’t get to be thought about before I get it. 

The one I have planned is going to be awesome.  It’s going to be the treble clef of the first line of “Amazing Grace” in the key of G.  It’s going to wrap around my left wrist starting on the middle inside and ending around the same place, just spiraled down a ways.  Then, under the clef somewhere (undecided as of right now) is going to be the word “befun.” 

Here’s why:

My Unca Dave is dead.  Has been for almost 11 years.  When he passed away, my Aunt Mary (his older sister) decided she wanted to sing “Amazing Grace” at the memorial service.  My mom typed up the lyrics for her as Mary read them to her.  When we got to the last line – “…we’ve no less days to sing God’s praise than when we first begun” – Mom accidentally typed “befun.”  It was funny because it was like comic relief for a really crappy situation, but then also, it was awesome because Dave was so fun.  He was the epitome of fun.  Funnier than anyone I have ever known. 

My next tattoo will be in honor of my most favoritest uncle ever.  I just need to choose the font for “befun.”  Hm…

Weddings and Klent

Pretty sure everyone I know is either married or getting married within the next year (or maybe two).  I'm in a wedding on Sunday and am in one this summer.  And am going to TONS of them this year.  I was invited to over 30 weddings in 2009.  It's sick.  I don't like it.


My friend Klent.  He's a strange kid to say the least.  He's awesome and I'm SO glad he's in my life.  But really... He's insane.  He's 19(ish).  He's sooo angry that he's not married.  Again, he's around 19 and crazy.  


Every time I say anything about a wedding, he says, "A ring is a hole within itself."  Did I mention that Klent is insane?

So, we quite regularly talk about what this could possibly mean.  Almost every time I talk to him, we talk about the meaning of this phrase.  I'm pretty sure that it has no true, good, real, intense meaning.  But it struck Klent (God knows why).  Klent and I were Facebook chatting about this last night when I told him I can't hang out this weekend because a wedding is eating my life.  


He said, "Well, a ring is a hole within itself."

I almost signed off right then.  Ok, not really.  But, still.  It was probably our third time talking about it.  He said, "I bet it just means that a ring is a hole." 


"Yeah, ok, Klent." 


I was in a wedding a couple days after Klent and my last conversation about rings.  When I was on my way to the wedding rehearsal, I was thinking about rings being holes within themselves.  And it dawned on me.

Since marriage only works 50% of the time, the "hole" is really symbolic of the hole in the concept and idea of marriage.  Meaning - that since marriage obviously doesn't really work, there is a hole in the argument that it does and every wedding is an argument for marriage.  Let me explain this better.


Pastors, ministers, preachers, whatever you wanna call 'em - they are always talking about how he ring symbolizes how the love a couple has for each other never ends.  It symbolizes how the couple will love each other for eternity.  


And the ring is a hole (within itself).  It's almost impossible.  Few couples last for "eternity" (even if that only means "until death").  Their love is not boundless.  In the sense that the symbolism of the ring is arguing for something that is not totally possible.  The meaning of the symbolism is flawed.  So a ring really is a hole within itself.


Marriage sucks.  And Klent is awesome.


That's all I have to say.

Right... Mmhmm...

If you know me at all, you more than likely know that I’m basically too stubborn for illness.  My doctor even knows this and I just recently got a new one.  I’m pretty sure my stubbornness follows me in my medical charts.  I’m glad.

A few weeks ago, I had to go to the doctor.  I was pretty sure that coughing up blood several times (badly enough that I needed to lean over a toilet) was not the best for my body.  It really wasn’t until 5 friends told me to go and my boss (who’s more stubborn than me) even said it probably wasn’t a bad idea that I decided I should go.  One friend said, “Go to the hospital now.  Blood coming from any orifice (other than the obvious girly parts) is bad.  Reason for docs.”  The argument that my mouth was a girly part (being that it’s on my girl face) did not fly very well.

So, I went to the doctor expecting to be told I have a really bad cold.  Maybe bronchitis.  She sat me down.  Listened to my lungs.  Took my blood pressure.  You know, all the normal stuff.  Then the diagnosis:  “Yeah, your lungs sound terrible.  I’ve never heard a wheeze like that.” 

All I responded with was, “Right.  Mmhmm.”  She got kinda mad when I said that and then started in with the questions:

“What do you do on a daily basis?”

          “Eat bacon.”

“No, I mean, really.  What does your typical week look like?”

I knew this meant my days as a person who still had fun were coming to an end…  So I lied a little.

          “Um… I work some.  Not much.  And watch a ton of sitcoms.  I do have a coffee date with a friend fairly regularly and it’s pretty late.  Often around 11 at night.”  I was hoping the coffee at 11 would freak her out just enough but she’d stop prying.

“Right.  Last time you were here, you said you work full time.  And then you said something about having a roommate.  What’s your roommate situation?”

I must be a horrible liar because she read right through:

          “Great.  She’s really sweet.  She’s a few years younger than me, so I’m like her older sister.”

“Yeah?  Well, that’s good.  Sounds like she probably doesn’t pay half the rent.  Why’d you get stuck with her?  Where are her parents?”

Shit.  That’s all I could think.  I knew she saw through it.  She knows I’m tired a lot and obviously knows that I have joint problems.

          “Well, they are here in town.  And she talks to them a lot.  I just have always spent quite a bit of time with her.  She really is like my sister.  I love her to death.”

“So, you’re helping her out a lot.”

          “Not really.  I’m in her wedding.”

“Your emergency contact.  Jonathan… P.  I’m not even going to try that.  Is he your boyfriend?”

          “Definitely not.”

“Then why’s he your emergency contact.”

          “He’s my best friend.  He’s like a brother.  His whole family is like my family.”

“You close to his mom and dad?”

          “Well, his mom passed away in oh nine.”

“Ah.  That’s too bad.  Were you around for that?”

          “Yeah.  Just talked to him when he needed to and stuff.”

“That’s very sweet of you.  What do you do on weekends?”

          “Hang out with friends on Friday and then on Saturday, Jonathan and I go play games with an old lady we know.  She’s 85 and awesome.”

“Oh… So does she have much of a social life?”

          “Well, yeah.  On Saturday night.”

So this damn conversation went on for a bit longer.  She finally said, “Yeah, you are doing too much.  You’re helping too many people.  I can tell you’re talking stuff down.  Do you only have the one job?”

          “Yes.  One job.”

“You don’t do odd jobs regularly for anyone or anything?”

I think she could tell I was lying.

          “Well, I sometimes help one friend out with his books for his company.  And other friend with some typing.  But it’s really easy and not much work.”

Then proceeded a lecture about getting rest.  Taking care of myself.  Not helping anyone who needs help.  Being lazy.  Et cetera.  I was ready to shoot her.  Then she said the kicker, “You’ve probably had pneumonia for 6 to 8 weeks.  It’s probably not even contagious.  I’m putting you on 3 prescriptions.  One is an antibiotic.  Do not go back to work.  You’re also going to have to go get your lungs x-rayed.”

Before I could argue, she walked out the door and came back with papers.  I got a call 3 days later.  “Yes, you have double pneumonia.  The doctor says to slow down.  You probably only had minor allergies that you never did anything about.”

          “Right.  Mmhmm.”

according to UrbanDictionary...

...my name means:

• Slang for "most awesome girl ever"
• Usually extremely beautiful. Can surprise you at what she can do. Very outgoing. Can be emotional at times, but mostly just wants to party! 
• Very hott girl that you won't seem to every forget about, amazing personality and great figure. 
• Amazing
• An amazing person, not likely to ever leave your thoughts, always to the be the only one on your mind. Incredibly beautiful, nice, smart, caring, and all-around great. Her eyes gleem with a radiance of a thousand stars, her lips draw you in, like magnets, her love is like life, without it, you surely cannot live.

Yay for Facebook games.  I think this is flipping hilarious.  Because really - the only part that is true (besides "most awesome girl ever") is "Very outgoing... mostly just wants to party!" 

And I'm pretty sure that "kristen" should be the new way to say "awesome girl."  So, I have a friend named Brie... She's pretty kristen.  Just saying.  I think it's a good idea.  I think you should start using it your every day vocabulary.

Family... Or something like it....

I'm writing a book.

It's called family... or something like it and it's not really working out all that well.  Reason being - I can't find a focus for the book yet.  I know it needs to be a discussion of family and what it means through the use of short, meaningful stories.

I have a section about my dead uncle.  I section about my awesome grampa.  A section about "my girls" who are like my family.  I have weird, random anecdotes about my mom's side of the family.  A section about kids who are like little siblings to me.  And the weird part is - I can't allow myself to put on paper who some of my "family" is.  I shouldn't be ashamed or afraid.  But when writing non-fiction (that you want to get published), it's terrifying to write about people who aren't truly your family and hope your "real" family reads it and is ok with how much you love people as "family."  

Recently, I was involved in an interview at my current job.  My boss is like another father to me and his son and daughter work for us.  My best friend works for us.  And one of my good friends who I call "Mommy" works for us.  During the interview (which was of a friend of mine), my boss said, "Yes, we basically hire all of our extended family to work here."  And I feel the same way.  The people I work with really are like my family.  But I really have no way to put into words how much these people are like family.

And it gets even more complex than that.  For the last two years, I've gone on a few vacations.  And so have my parents and siblings.  Funny thing - I didn't go with my parents and siblings.  I went with my best friend (Jonathan) and his family.  I don't remember the last time I saw my mom's side of the family, but saw Jonathan's last summer - for three weeks.  I'm in love with his family.  I do get to see my family and his family this summer (which is awesome), but it's just weird that I'm visiting two separate families and going on one vacation and am not married or dating anyone.

And it gets weirder.

I'm adopted.  So none of these people are biologically my family anyhow.

AND WEIRDER...

Jonathan and his dad and I are always together.  Moreso Jonathan and I.  But his dad is quite frequently with us and we love him to death.  On weekends, we spend a lot of time with his dad and his dad's girlfriend (Angela).  Pete calls us "a little family" (which, of course, includes Brooklyn the dog).

I'm not really sure what family is.  I think that's why I'm so stumped, confused, and slow about my book.  I consider so many people like family that I don't really have a family.  I could have a "Kristen Family Reunion" and it would be awesome, but so many people would have to meet each other, it would almost be stressful for me.

Yeah.  The concept of family is weird.  Thus the "...or something like it" in my title. 

Not as funny....

Ok. So, if you've read any of my blogs, you know I'm a ridiculous, insane, psychotic freak.  Minus the psychotic and with a realization that I am not truly insane (in the sense that I don't have to take meds).  But, sadly, there's a side of me that is a tad more serious than what you've read as of so far.

That said, this is a free-write based on something a little more "deep" or "serious" than my average post.

(I say "that said" too much)

I was talking to this kid I know the other day about how strange it is that the complexities of life are simplified by the beauty of people's minds.  The kid's exact words were, "How easy a mind can handle how complicated everyday shit is.  How much you gather from how a person dresses or walks or talks or handles themselves in situations.  You automatically comprehend a personality or character."  

That in itself was fairly intense.  But he added this, "How beautifully life is so complicated yet simple."

So this has all kinda been sitting on my mind for a few days.  Because when I think about life, I do think about just "letting it happen."  Kind of like a hippie, honestly.  

And then I was talking to this other kid I know.  And he was talking about how complicated life is and how it's good that it's complicated and he doesn't care to make it simple.  Now, I of course said, "Well, life is easier if you're just a cold-hearted bitch like me."  But he didn't really like that answer.  I even put out there that considering other's feelings too much and attempting to "feel" their emotions was girly.  That got the response of, "Well, if you're calling me a girl, then screw you."  But as we talked, I was able to convince him a little that being overly concerned with people and trying too hard to relate and tap into their emotions just makes life overly complicated and you cease to truly live.

So, the first kid was excited about the fact that life is simply complicated.  And the other was attempting to make it all more complicated.  I don't necessarily think one way is right and the other is wrong, but I definitely lean towards to the simply complicated version of life.

While I'm on the topic of all of this - I really do believe the intricities (I don't know how to spell that) of life are what make life.  BUT if we focus on them, they almost blur out into over-analyzation.  (I make up a lot of words)

I don't really know if any of that made sense.  But it's all been sitting on my chest for a few days and I'm pretty excited about the fact that I've had two conversations about this kind of thing and it was with two different people who come from two completely different "areas" of my life.  

Pretty sweet.

Life is "beautifully... complicated... yet simple."

Frikkin Movies...

I think I’m done.  I don’t think I’ll ever buy another movie again.  Ok.  We all know that’s BS.  But really.  I wanted to kill someone this weekend when I was watching a movie.  It’s called “Management.”  It has Steve Zahn and Jennifer Aniston in it.  The whole reason I bought it (besides that I got it for a dollar) was that I have this sad affection for those two not-so-great stars.

Here’s the plot:  Guy has boring job working for parents at a hotel.  Girl comes to stay for two nights.  Guy likes girl.  Guy touches her butt (with permission).  Girl checks out but comes back a few minutes later and has sex in the laundry room with Guy.  Long story short – Guy stalks Girl and Girl stalks Guy.  Guy falls in love with girl and how she lives her life.  Eventually Girl ends up back together with ex-boyfriend.  Ex-Boyfriend gets Girl pregnant.  Guy tells Girl she needs to learn to take care of herself rather than always helping people and being selfless.  Ex-Boyfriend and Girl get married.  Then divorced.  Guy stalks Girl again.  Guy and Girl end up together.

Point of the movie:  Take care of yourself first.  Then take care of others.

If you know me at all – you know that I don’t take care of myself.  I don’t plan on ever starting to take care of myself.  I don’t like to take care of myself.  I love helping people.  I help people all the time.

Helping people means not having to look at yourself.  You don’t have to see what you need help with.  And since you don’t know how/where you need help, you don’t have to ask for help.  It’s actually quite an awesome setup.

This basically ruined my weekend.  A flippin movie with two actors I actually enjoy watching.  When I told my best friend I was watching movie and that I could barely finish it, he said, “Yeah… I’d probably turn it off, too.  If I were watching myself on the screen.”  And then a couple days later, he called me Jennifer.  Rude.

All this said, I think I’m supposed to be learning something.  I think I’m supposed to start “slowing down” and attempting to “take care” of myself and think about others second and take care of others a little less.  We’ll see how that works out.