Today I....

Played soccer! For the first time in YEARS. I joined a new local women's league and went to a pickup game today. I think real games start next week. Anyways, it was so much fun! And, holy crap, it was a lot of running. My workout DVDs are great, but they are a mix of strength and cardio and are quite short. Running for 90 minutes is not something I've tried to do in like 6 years. I now also have a HUGE blood blister on my big toe. Yummy. I didn't think about the fact that the huge calluses I used to have on feet are long gone. I also didn't realize how much I really missed playing.

When I was in high school, soccer was my life. In fact, when I was a freshman, I wanted to play college ball and eventually play professionally (though, at the time, the only way to do that was to make the national team). I worked really hard and happened to luck out with some amazing teammates and coaches. In fact, the travel team I played on later in my high school career was one of the best things in my life at the time. Things on that team just clicked. We all had an amazing chemistry on the field and off the field. It's hard to describe to someone who has never played before. I was not the fastest, or the best at any one thing, but I think I had an intuition thing going on. I was a smart player, and I was decent at distributing the ball. We had some great times, traveled to a few places for tournaments, went whitewater rafting, and just really enjoyed each other's company. Ah, I'm getting misty-eyed (I do that a lot)!

High school soccer was fun for a little bit, but there was a lot of pressure and my love for the game was slowly replaced with stress and frustration. Plus, I had a nasty ankle injury sophomore year. I was completely ignored at that point, because I was, for all intents and purposes, useless. That was a pretty hard thing to deal with.

Also, as I started getting on towards the end of high school, I started getting interested in things besides soccer. I realized that there were so many things I didn't get to do because I was spending every second doing sports. I started getting into music, and eventually started playing guitar. I also wanted to spend some more time building a social life. I was working a part-time job and getting really into the academic part of school. I wanted to have time to join the History Club, etc.

But, after all this time, I do really miss playing soccer. It was such a huge part of my life and is a big part of who I am now. I miss being on a team. I miss having a 12-18 girlfriends without even having to think about it. I miss having that outlet for stress. Today, I even realized I miss the small ritual of sitting in the grass and putting shinguards, socks, and shoes on; it was always a time of contemplation for me. It's great that my town has started a women's league, and I'm happy I'll get to play a few games.

Sigh. I'm gonna be sore tomorrow!

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: I've been listening to the CD my dad made me for high school graduation. One of the songs on it is "Wouldn't it Be Nice" by the Beach Boys. I was obsessed with the Beach Boys when I was young. I remember listening to them on cassettes with my Walkman.

Reading: Chesapeake

Watching: Bones, Season 2. Some crazy forensics shit. And, perhaps a budding romance.

Working Out: Played soccer today (as I may have mentioned before...). Sports are so wonderful. You get a workout while you're having fun and not even paying attention to the fact that you're exercising. Yeah.

Flannelynn

I'm getting ready to head out to the local pub to play a show with my band. Getting ready for a gig invovles a lot more attention-to-wardrobe-type-detail than I'm used to. Today I'm wearing my brand new boots and dress from Old Navy (everyone who knew me in high school and college is most likely gasping. Gasp! Ryan in something other than her Birkenstocks and red flannel? No! Surely not!). That's right. Birkenstocks and a red flannel (If this were a movie, the last part of that sentence would be echoing to emphasize the horror that the watcher is supposed to feel: "and a red flannel... and a red flannel... and a red flannel... and a red flannel... and a red flannel... and a red flannel... and a red fla-"). Stop judging! I LOVE my Birkies and my red flannel. In fact, I love my red flannel so much that I named it "Flannelynn."

Flannelynn and I found each other my freshman year of college. My good friend and I went to a thrift store, and there, right on the rack of $1.50 shirts, hung my dear, sweet Flannelynn. From then on, we were inseparable. I literally took her (yes, "her.") everywhere. It was the perfect shirt for me; I often found myself cold when others weren't, and I would just put Flannelyn on. My uniform was a band T-shirt (often a Beatles shirt), flared jeans, my Birkenstocks, and Flannelyn. I got so much crap for my red flannel. The whole reason I even wanted a flannel was that I tried on my friend Jared's flannel shirt once. It was so comfortable! Flannelyn eventually became my security blanket. I felt strange if I went somewhere without her. I've had her for like 6 years now, and she has ripped, lost buttons, stretched, and faded.

Nowadays, I'm trying to branch out a little in terms of what I wear. This is partially due to the fact that I play a lot of gigs and am hyper-conscious of the fact that people are looking at me. But, at the same time, I'm also a little sick of my old "uniform." Not that I am discarding it or anything. I just want to explore other options.

I haven't worn Flannelyn in awhile, but maybe I will tomorrow after work. That sounds nice!

Another funny thing: I went through my facebook pictures and counted 17 pictures that include Flannelynn. Maybe I should tag her.

Here is a "Visual Ode to Flannelynn:"

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: Galen Curry, Some Perspective. It's totally sweet.

Reading: Chesapeake.

Watching: Bones, Season 1 and Sex and the City, Season 4

Working Out: 30-Day Shred. Hardcore.

It's Been 10 Months Since My Last Depression...

Please accept my sincere apologies for not posting this weekend. With the exception of Sunday, my weekend was rough. It's not really because I was DD at a party on Friday, or even because our canoe became infested with ants on Saturday (ew ew ew Ew EW!). Mainly it was rough because I was experiencing many of the symptoms I have experienced in the past: Those of clinical depression.

Now, I have been debating as to whether or not I should bring up this part of my life in this blog, but it is a huge part of who I am, and I cannot simply ignore it. Part of the reason I hesitate is that Heather Armstrong, the writer of Dooce.com and one of my writing heroes, became known for writing about her own postpartum depression. I'm certainly not trying to be a "copy cat (plus, I'd much rather be a copy-dog or a copy-bunny!)." However, this is something I dealt with for years (and something I think about every. single. day. of. my. life. Literally, every day). Also, I didn't want to bring anyone down by writing about something that isn't fun or funny. But this is important to me, and this weekend was scary because I felt like I was going through something really hard again.

I was diagnosed with clinical depression at the beginning of my senior year of college. I had been suffering for probably two years prior to that. It came on gradually; I did not wake up one day and just feel bad. I was too stubborn and afraid to get help. I just thought the misery I felt had to do with a flaw in myself that I had to try to fix all alone. I didn't want to admit defeat by asking for help. I felt helpless, useless, sad, worthless, guilty, lonely, miserable, and completely hopeless. I was the girl at the party crying in the corner. I was the girl who took every little thing "the wrong way." My sense of humor became incredibly narrow, and I was incapable at laughing at myself.

The thing that finally got me to a counselor was Chris telling me "I want you to go see someone." I was shocked and initially hurt at the time, but I was single-handedly making his life miserable along with my own. So, I went to counseling and was, by senior year diagnosed with depression and put on meds.

The title of this post refers to the fact that I've officially been off of meds (after more than two years on them) for about 10 months. A lot of hard work went into getting myself into a better place, and the meds helped me calm down enough to alter my behavior and get used to new, healthier habits.

Though I feel so much better, I still panic any time I feel bad. I realize it is normal to have good moods and bad moods, but every time I'm down I can't help but think that maybe I'm spiraling into the depths of depression once more. And I freak out.

Chris and I watched a documentary the other day called Depression: Out of the Shadows, which explored the facts and research surrounding clinical depression. All kinds of different people from all different walks of life are stricken with the same thing I was stricken with, though at varying degrees. I think about those other people in a general way all the time. How they are having the same kind of hard time I had. How they are the one at the party feeling alone, freakish, and panic-stricken. How they too feel the guilt I felt. The guilt at not being completely happy when I already had it so much better than so many people on this planet. The guilt from feeling like I disappointed everyone who ever cared about me.

Well, though this post wasn't particularly clever or funny, it was at least a little cathartic. I need to get past this "speedbump" I've been dealing with (Thanks, Chris. He called it a "speedbump" to help me visualize the idea that this is a short setback and not a scary, end-all descent), and I plan to kick it in the butt.

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: Josh Ritter's album Hello Starling. It is so good. Particularly of note are the songs "Kathleen" and "Snow is Gone."

Reading: Chesapeake by James Michener

Watching: Bones, Season 1. Chris and I love this! We have an unspoken rule that we have to watch it together.

Working Out: 30-Day Shred. Exercising is the best natural antidepressant. Part of why I think I have been having a hard time lately is that I haven't been exercising as regularly. Moving, new living situations, and a busy life have made it harder lately. But I plan on fixing that to keep myself mentally and physically healthy.

My Dream Job

Seeking: Beach Bum

This is an exciting and challenging full-time employment opportunity for a an unqualified candidate with no experience.

Candidate must be hard work-averse and have a strong background in procrastination and slackerdom.

Education Requirements:
-Candidate must have either been the class daydreamer or class clown.
-College education discouraged, but a useless degree will be considered (English, History, Music, Philosophy...) if candidate is otherwise qualified.

Responsibilities will include:
-Rarely setting foot indoors
-Attaining brown, leathery skin and callused feet
-Aimless wandering
-Making temporary friends with the vacationers
-Naming the seagulls and sharing lunch with them
-Listening to an unhealthy amount of Bob Marley and Jimmy Buffett
-Forgetting how to use a computer
-Napping in the afternoon
-Collecting seashells and left-behind beach items
-Drinking booze out of a brown paper bag
-Singing to oneself

Professional dress is forbidden and is grounds for termination.

Compensation: based on lack of experience
Location: Onthewater, VA

Please send messy, hand-written cover letter and blank resume to:

Bob Dunnadoanythin
That Beat Up Boat by That Dock
Onthewater, VA 00000

I would be so good at this.

HAPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!

Showing up for my first day of work.

Why I Wish People Were More Like Bunnies

Some of you may know that I am a proud Bunny-Mommy. I adopted sweet, cute, little Coltrane from the SPCA a couple years ago, and he is awesome. Just look:

My little (slightly chubby) bun!

So, here are a few reasons why I wish people were more like bunnies:

1. Bunnies dance when they're happy. It's called a "binky" when a bunny jumps and spins in the air out of pure joy. Wouldn't it be great if people did this? I can't help but smile and laugh when Coltrane binkies, so imagine how full of joy people would be to see their friends and loved ones literally "jumping for joy?"

2. Bunnies build trust over time (with people, with other bunnies) and "bond" with others. A rabbit makes it very clear when they don't trust you, and a lot of work and time goes into building a mutual trust and respect. Once that bond is established, the relationship is meaningful and special. I wish people were up-front about who they do and do not trust. It'd make things so much simpler.

3. It doesn't take much to make a bunny happy. Enough food, a treat here and there, and the space to run around. Coltrane is sometimes more excited about getting to run around the house than he is to get fed.

4. Once you learn bunny body-language, it is pretty easy to figure out what's going on with them. People hide what they're thinking and feeling and manipulate their own body-language to communicate what others want to see. Once you learn what means what, a bunny is easy to read. When Coltrane's ears are smushed together and pushed back, that means he's irritated, mad, etc and stop doing what you're doing. Simple. No mind games.

5. Rabbits' poop doesn't smell. Think of how pleasant rest stop bathrooms would be if people's poop didn't smell!

6. There's a reason they say "going at it like rabbits."

7. There is no such thing as an ugly bunny.

You have my permission to make fun of me. I get hell all the time from people about being a "bunny person." Here is a great reason to pick on me... *binky*

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: I got an email from my mom this morning telling me she just watched The Last Waltz again and loved it. I have been listening to The Band most of the day as a result. I don't think it will ever get old. Considering my mom and my dad especially still love it after having it in their lives since the movie came out on the big screen in 1978 (movie was filmed in 1976), I'd say it will probably stay relevant to me for years to come.

Reading: Chesapeake. What? It's like 900 pages! And I'm busy and stuff.

Watching: Bones. My sister has been trying to get me to watch this show for forever. Now that Chris and I have Netflix Instant right on our TV, we've started becomming obsessed. We're on the first season.

Working Out: Some things have gotten in the way this week, but 30 Day Shred tomorrow.

White Trash Anniversary

Chris and I have been together for 5 years today. Our day can only be described as a "white trash" anniversary celebration (I do have West BY GOD! Virginia blood in me). It started with us getting up at the last possible second before having to leave the house. We both pulled on shorts and t-shirts without having showered and got in the car.

Our new place came with washer/dryer hookups sans washer/dryer (We were secretly hoping the previous tenants would leave theirs, but, alas, no such luck). So, after scouring craigslist, we found an ad for a washer/dyer set for FIFTY DOLLARS. That's Five-Oh dollars for both a washer and a dryer. Pretty hard to pass up, eh? We set out for Waynesboro (about a 40-minute drive) this morning. This lady lives out in the booooo-hooooo-nies. We got lost on the way there. But, eventually, we pulled into a gas station to ask for directions. One of those really nice country folk was working the cash register and he gave us great directions to get where we needed to go. You know the type: Flannel-wearing, extremely kind and polite, counts your change back to you when you buy something ("that's five, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and sixty-five cents makes fifteen"), thanks you profusely and wishes you well.

Anyways, we got to the house. Now, for fifty dollars we both expected these appliances to be total pieces of shit.  Much to our surprise, they seemed to be in extremely good condition. Like, much nicer than many of the washer/dryers we saw for hundreds of dollars. Woo! We had a bit of a time getting the washer and dryer into the car, but did (call me Superwoman, please).

Now comes the really redneck part of our anniversary day. We headed to the Shoneys for lunch. For breakfast for lunch. Ha, don't you love how, when you get out into the country, everything has a "the" in front of it? "I'm going to THE Shoneys." "I'm going to THE Walmart." As if there are no other Shoneys or Walmarts anywhere, ever. So Chris ate his chicken-fried steak (EW) and I ate my eggs, grits, and bacon. Classy couple, we are. And Shoneys is as white-trash as you get! Chris pointed out that I was the skinniest person in the restaurant. We ate, I drank the bad coffee, and we headed out (Happy annie-versary babey!).

And then the day got even more white-trashy; cuz we stopped by THE Walmart. We got a bookshelf and a few other odds and ends.

We got home with our new loot, and Chris started trying to hook up our new (old!) washer/dryer set. The hoses kept leaking, so we went to Lowes to get new ones. THEN, the hot water hose kept leaking. Um, sucky. We decided to just keep the cold water hooked up, and then, we went to plug in the dryer. ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNND more shit: Our dryer is newer than our house, and, apparently, they (I have no clue who "they" are) changed dryer cords in 1996 (I was nine). So, the shit didn't fit. The male parts didn't go into the female parts (bow, chicka bow wow, oh.). SO, we had to go back. to. Lowes. Chris (call him Superman) rewired our dryer and got it working. Hallelujah!!!!!!!!! Two loads of laundry done bitches! Sorry, you're not bitches. Just got excited.

After the debacle, we went to the grocery store and then the liquor store. We spent over $75 to start our "liquor collection (yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwww!)"

Now, that's a white trash anniverary (love you babey).

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magentic Zeros. A Charlottesville radio station called WNRN plays this song all the time. It's awesome. And crazy weird. Oh yeah, and awesome.

Reading: Chesapeake. Really like this book, ya'll.

Watching: Sex and the City, Season 4. I am drinking a homemade Cosmopolitan (yeah, liquor cabinet) while watching Sex and the City. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm yes.

Working Out: I had a doctor's appointment last week. It's official: I've lost 30-lbs in about 9 months. In fact, I've sort of accidentally done down a size past where I meant to. So, it's eating yummy stuff and working out. Great combo really. Doing 30-Day Shred a few times a week.

Sleeping with the Enemy

I think I may have mentioned (more than once!) that I love to read Heather Armstrong's blog at Dooce.com. Her site has been a big part of what inspired me to start writing a personal blog. I've been slowly making my way through her archives when I have time. I'm up to December of 2006 and I ran across this post. Heather writes a newsletter to her daughter every month, and this one mentions her daughter's obsession with purses. She then goes on to detail how her daughter brings everything she likes into the crib with her. She says "This month your fascination with purses has turned into a full-blown obsession, and sometimes when we leave the house you have to bring three or four of them with you, one around your neck, two hung over your right shoulder, one clutched in your hand. You also like to sleep with them."

Now, I nearly spit out my pinor noir laughing when I read this, not because of Heather's daughter, but beacuse of me and my Mama Faye.

My Mama Faye was my mom's mom. She died when I was five, but I have all these incredibly vivid memories of her. Now, first let me pause to address something important. Mama is pronounced "Maw-maw" where my family comes from (West BY-GOD! Virginia). I can't stand to think of any of you reading this and thinking "Mah-mah" or any of that crap to yourselves. Not ok. Not right. Don't do it. Stop it.

There are several ridiculous stories that have been retold hundreds of times regarding my Mama, but this particular one is probably one of the most hilarious and telling:

Backstory: I used to HAVE TO sleep with my Bert and Ernie dolls. Stop snickering, this was no menage a trois (that's Three! Three people in bed! Muah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Lightning and Thunder!). This stemmed from my pure love of Sesame Street, especially Bert and Ernie. So, this one time when I was probably 3 or 4, I went to spend the night at my Mama's house but I FORGOT. ERNIE. AND. BERT. This was not something that was a small problem. I refused to go to bed without them. Eventually, my Mama decided she had to get me bed somehow. So, she started digging through her closets to try to find a stuffed animal.

Ok, so there were no stuffed animals. And what comes next is totally absurd. Mama found this purple, sparkly, plastic clutch purse. And she convinced me to sleep with it in lieu of Ernie and Bert. Yeah. For REAL. I cuddled a cheapy plastic purse and slept soundly all night. Perhaps this is why I dragged my heels for years before I bought a purse. I was a pockets girl all the way until college. This may also have to do with my fear of femininity. Anyways, that's my sleeping-with-a-purse story. I have this vivid picture in my mind of what the purse looked like. I scoured google images for something similar, but didn't find what I was looking for to show you. Here's the closest I got:

It was sort of combination of this:

And this:

That's stylish right there. So that's my sleeping with accessories story. I wonder if my Mama laughed to herself on that one. She must have. Cuz that's funny. Ok, it's late. I'm going to bed. With my Rosetti.

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: The Band. Which is like, THE BAND. Awesome.

Reading: Chesapeake.

Working Out: 30-Day Shred. Worked out 3 times with week despite a crazy busy schedule and the new place. I feel pretty good about that!

Watching: Sex and the City Season 4.