This is not my beautiful house. I rent.

I recently became aware that according to rental companies, my housing history is less than desirable. Upon moving into my newest home in September of last year, I was informed that my tendency to rent from private parties and/or apartment complexes with all the record-keeping skills of a set of Muppet Babies raised in a meth lab had made it difficult for them to determine who exactly I was in this world. Since there was another woman with my name (and I am assuming, bad hair) with three evictions and a court order against her, and according to them I had no way of proving I wasn't her (my protestations of "I'M NOT!" were wholly ineffective), they chose to increase my deposit substantially to punish me for crimes that I did not commit. I am determined that if I ever do find the Super Cuts version of Laurie Evans, there is going to be a full-on Kill Bill v.1-style throwdown- complete with samurai swords, maces (is that the plural of that word?), and a legion of acrobatic Asian men in masks. Bitch made it so that I can't ever own a waterbed, and for this she must pay.

This altogether infuriating experience did get me to thinking though. Like any single person in their twenties, my housing history has been nothing if not replete with too many mismatched dishes, psycho roommates, rent increases, and neighbors with overzealous girlfriends that like to keep their windows open during "the loving". I have lived alone twice, had one (mostly) good roommate experience, three bad roommate experiences (also known as "Yo, She-Bitch. Let's go."), and one neutral/annoying lease of a room in someone's home.

So, with the hopes that this informal documentation can somehow stave off future deposit hikes by soliciting pity for my poor unlucky soul, I give you all my rental history from college to now.

Apartment #1

Timeframe: Spring 2001

Apartment: Egg-crate complex on campus just down from frat row. Smelled like old man despite being entirely populated by students.

Roommates: Girl 1- Her name may have started with a T (I think). I ran into her just twice in the four months that I lived there. Girl 2- From my church congregation, was 27 years old (only bad when you consider that I was 19 at the time), in graduate school, and suffered (loudly) from fibro-myalgia.

Highlights:

• This was my first time away from home. I spent my days watching rugby with cute neighbor boys Chad and Seth, hiking at Spencer's Butte until 4:00 in the morning, visiting the student health center for Tecnu after getting poison oak from hiking Spencer's Butte until 4:00 in the morning, placing my stereo in my open window and blasting Counting Crows, and yelling at the neighbors to shut up when they started screaming during the season finale of "Friends" where you find out that Rachel is pregnant.
• Lived off of Totino's Party Pizzas, bagels, chili from a can, Cheez-Its, and Shari's diner food- most of which was consumed after midnight despite what they tell you about your colon being like unto a Gremlin.
• Purchased my very first piece of furniture for that place- a $20 couch at St. Vincent DePaul's that smelled like failure and regurgitated Jameson's.
• Roommate 2 went IN-EFFING-SANE during my second month of living with her. One morning I woke to find a bunch of blond hair in the bathroom garbage can. I came home that night to find her sitting on the couch, bald as a cue ball, studying for finals. While working at the graduate school as a student aide, I filed some of her paperwork and read it by *accident*. It said, "I have to quit my position as a GTF because I have been struggling with the decision of whether or not to kill myself." I started locking my door at night after that.
• Announced to Roommate 2 that in June, I would be moving out and would be looking for someone to take over the last month of my lease. She told me that whomever I chose would have to meet her approval. She then refused to tell me when I got messages after placing an ad in the student paper and in all ways tried to sabotage my moving process. After calling the rental company, I found out that I did not have to have her approval to sell my lease, so I sold it to the most annoying person of our mutual aquaintance- a person that Roommate 2 had sworn hatred of to me in deepest confidence. Roommate 2 and I were in the same church congregation for two more years following living together and she never once talked to me again. I still have not decided if this is one of my most or least proud moments.

House #1

Timeframe: June 2001-July 2001

House: Adorable two-bedroom on the busiest street in Eugene. Was inherited from some girls that we knew that were graduating/moving on. This house was famous for being a great spot for awesome Halloween and summer parties.

Roommates: My best friend for life, Tams inhabited the hobbit-sized bedroom that fit her floor-anchored mattress and little else. I shared the master bedroom (and a bunk bed) with a girl who was dating my best-male-friend-and-object-of-unrequited-love-of-the-moment. Side note: He ended up sleeping with her older sister, so I feel more bullet-dodgy than remorseful of the fact that we were not to be. This roommate was constantly grossing me out by taking out her false front tooth that became a necessity after an unfortunate childhood accident involving . . . blah, blah, blah, something boring about Idaho.

Highlights:

• First time living with friends. Nearly lost the important one. Did lose the non-important one (and her weird-ass tooth). Word to the wise, kiddos: boundaries.
• I once ended an argument with my room-sharing roommate by mooning her and walking out of the room.
• I learned how much I hate sharing my stuff when people were constantly on my computer, particularly when I needed to study. This begs the question- What were we doing? Why did I go on the internet before Facebook?
• The roommate dating the boy I loved (dear heavens, his nickname was actually SPIN) had him over every night after he got off work at McGrath's. He smelled like fish. He would shower at our place, and once he poked his head out of the bathroom and asked me something as I walked by. He was shirtless, dripping wet, and sexy. This story has a lot to do with why I get aroused whenever I eat grilled salmon.
• I once flushed the toilet when my room-sharing roommate was in the shower, and my former breakfast burrito came up through the pipe. You have never seen a partially-toothless girl run so fast.
• I had one of the best birthday parties of my life at that place, including a spank machine that was awesome when it featured the hot boy that lived at the local stud house "The Den", but terrifying when it got to his bespectacled and tent-crotched roommate with sour breath.
• Tams had a legitimate low-rider bicycle from the seventies that I rode to school all the time. Mostly without permission.
• Crazy landlord convinced me that one of my roommates was stealing money, when in fact it was her. I got so mad with both roommates that I packed up and moved out when they were both on a camping trip. Yeah, I was THAT roommate.

Limbo 2001-2003

Living back at home with the 'rents. No dignity in dependence, but at least no one puked outside my bedroom window on an 86 degree day, so you take your victories where you can get them.

Apartment #2

Timeframe: June 2003-September 2003.

Apartment: One bedroom in the Westmoreland Apartments complex that both of my older sisters had lived in during their own college years. Following my experience, this complex would also receive patronage from my nephew, who was actually living there for the second time since this was the complex he and his family lived in from his birth until he was about six or seven. Our family crest is on the company website.

Roommates: None on a permanent basis, but I did let a random girl from England that was traveling the U.S. stay on my couch for the better part of two weeks.

Highlights:

• This was my first real apartment on my own, so people kept giving me plants as housewarming gifts. I put them all in the windowsill of my kitchen in back of the drapes so that they would get sun. After not opening the drapes for two weeks, I became terrified of what their state might be and wholly refused to open the drapes at all until I moved. By that point my plants had died and been reincarnated as fairly significant fire hazards.
• I was walking through my living room one day and looked up and across the lawn to the apartment complex across the field, only to realize that my immediate neighbors were friends of mine who had gotten married and I had not seen since. An awkward conversation ensued with us shouting at each other from our mutually open windows. It was at this point that I determined that I would not be opening my living room drapes anymore either.
• It was at this apartment that, with my friend from England, I made the decision that it was critically important for me to go to Wal-Mart at 2:00 AM and buy the movie "Holes" AS SOON AS IT CAME OUT. Why? I mean, I realize that Dule Hill was beautiful in it, but seriously. I was such a weird-ass kid in college.

Apartment #3

Timeframe: September 2003-May 2005

Apartment: Two bedroom in same apartment complex as Apartment #2.

Roommates: Just me, except for when a friend named James stayed on my couch every weekend for two months. Honestly, for the amount of people that I did not know that I was letting stay on my couch at that time, I am surprised I was not robbed blind or at least diddled with while I slept.

Highlights:

• The price. Oh my gosh, the price. I lived in about 750 sq. ft. of apartment for $355 per month. There was a point where I was literally living in a hole in the ground in SW Portland and it still cost $100 more than that, plus more than double the utilities.
• One time I walked a boy I had gone with on a date out to his car (yes, yes, I know- I am ridiculously progressive), and on the way we saw a nutria camped out on the lawn adjacent to my neighbor's place. We "talked" at his car for about 15 minutes, so that by the time I came back, I was lightheaded and forgot what I had seen previously. It had moved from one side of the yard to the other, and the way that the light was hitting it, it looked like a cat. I said, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty!" to which it horrifically responded by rearing up on it's hind legs and hissing like a snake in a Harry Potter book. I ran home.
• I was eating breakfast with James one day when a precocious squirrel came onto my porch area. James lured it inside of my house with a piece of bagel and it sat there happily eating and turning its head from side-to-side. As it sniffed my entertainment center and judged me for my "Alias" boxed sets (at that time, I was also considered progressive for thinking Bradley Cooper was hot), I worried about all manner of diseases and infestation being brought into my home by this bushy-tailed Pandora's box. Of course, because I kind of liked James at the same time, I was just like, "Awww! He likes you!" while I swallowed down the bile that kept rising in my throat.
• Living by myself for the first time for realsies meant that I realized that I was LIVING BY MYSELF. It took me about four months to understand that this meant that I could be naked anytime that I wanted. Like many freedoms in life, this was taken advantage of with pendulum effect. First I did it too much and had to determine appropriate activities for full-frontal (example: cooking is not a great time to be naked), then I thought that I was some psycho nudist freak and became way too conservative and ceased nudity during activities where it is not only sanctioned, but recommended (example: one must not wear a full burqa in the shower if one expects one's mango/pomegranate body wash to work its magic.) I eventually hit center with it though, and determined that it was for hot days and special occasions, and that with-the-curtains-open was only for the end of finals week.
• I lived in the same complex as most of the people from my graduate program (see first point for reason), and a few from my church congregation. One was a surly, stocky dude that smelled bad the first time I met him; the other was one of those "straight" guys whose voice has the same cadence as a Sex and the City writer, but somehow (somehow=$$$) still end up finding women to make out with them (Close your eyes and think of Bradley Cooper, Justin). The second of the two came over to my house one night to ask to borrow toilet paper and became skeptical of my actions when I refused to open the door wider than six inches. He thought I had a guy in there and wanted to see who. The real reason was that my apartment was a mess and I did not want to let him see the filth I could inhabit. I may have teased out the idea he had that I had finally been successful in picking up on the checker with the dreadlocks from Trader Joe's.
• My then best friend/brooding-guitarist-by-whom-I-thought-the-world-was-constructed worked in my apartment complex and had a boss that would force him into mandatory work slowdowns. He would come over to my place and stuff his face on the crap in my fridge while I looked at him and sighed like all three of the triplets from "Beauty and Beast". One summer he broke his hand by punching a box in what definitely equates to the Least Badass Move in History (TM), so while he was at work, he got bored and nailed/screwed a bunch of stuff to his cast. This was the young man that I counted among the intellectual elite of my peers. (This says, I think, more about my peers than about him.)
• I lived right next to a canal/swampland area. It was kind of cool because there were literally a thousand frogs that would sing me to sleep each night of the summer. It was terrifying because of GARDEN SPIDERS IN MY HOME!!! I don't know how they got in- the junk they are packing in their trunk more than exceeded the width requirement for my doorway- but get in they did. I snuffed them from this world by various means: for the one I found on my living room wall, I used a hammer and had to work up the nerve to strike by calling my big sister; the one I found on my doorknob was easy because I had just been out with the brooding guitarist, so I quickly called him (by means of my 7 lb. cell phone) to come back and slay that m.f.ing dragon with his boot; and the one that I found in the shower while I was showering was disposed of by means that I am not really sure of, since the only thing I remember is running screaming out of the room and weeping until I passed out in the spare bedroom. Gratefully, I think that was a James weekend, so I was covered. At least as far as spider disposal is concerned. He may have gotten more than an eye full of me streaking across the hall in terror but it is doubtful since he was not struck blind as a result.

Limbo May-December 2005

Back with the 'rents after getting done with graduate school. Who am I? What do I want to do with my life? The only answer I had to those questions was that I wanted to sleep and not look for a job. A LOT.

House #2
Timeframe: January 2006-January 2008

House: Four-bedroom with huge backyard and perfect living room for epic parties. My 25th birthday party hosted upwards of 100 people.

Roommates: Consistently, it was Ali, Char, and Char's puggle, Wasabi. The fourth roommate cycled in and out more times than a professor teaching "Defense Against the Dark Arts" at Hogwarts.

Highlights:

• Ali, Char, and I were all closet TV junkies, so we got DVR and became obsessed with watching "America's Next Top Model", "American Idol", and "So You Think You Can Dance". I made the ill-advised decisions of loving Melrose, Benji, and Taylor Hicks. National hysteria affects us all. I am sure to be one of the first casualties when the apocalypse comes. Sigh.
• One year there was a freak overnight snow storm, so we were stuck at home. Someone made cookies and because Ali had such a busy schedule that she did not get to watch TV very often, she chose what our InDemand movies were to be. We watched "Quicksilver" with Kevin Bacon, but she and Char kept getting distracted, so it took us about seven hours to watch it. I still maintain that this is the longest movie I have ever seen.
• One time the puggle swallowed his rawhide bone and I came home to it hanging out of his bunghole. I called Char to ask what I should do and she asked me to please get a plastic bag and pull it out. I made the mistake of staying on the phone with her while I did this and she was crying with laughter while I went, "Oh gosh . . . Oh no . . . GET DOWN! . . . WASABI . . . I'm going to be sick!" Apparently her co-worker at the neighboring cubicle thought that she was having a seizure because her body was shaking so hard from the laughter.
• One of Wasabi's favorite pasttimes was waiting until there were at least 3-5 attractive members of the opposite sex in our living room and then coming out of the hallway bearing a dirty pair of underwear. It was never sexy underwear either- he would go straight for your granny panties. I have a working theory about him attempting to build a parachute, but I think that gives his intelligence a bit too much credit.
• My friend John and I decided to go to a Halloween party together one year and he brought over a bunch of costume options to my house so that I could help him decide what to be. John is usually shy, but is also very funny when it comes to things like this. He had the idea of being a doctor wearing running shorts for some reason and came out of the bathroom in this outfit. It should be noted that the shorts were VERY short and that the coat was VERY long. Ali- who had no idea of what we were doing- suddenly screamed from the hallway, "AUGH!!! WHY ISN'T JOHN WEARING PANTS?" and he ran back in the bathroom.
• In 2007, I got head lice from one of my students at the summer school that I ran. For about a week, I went home from work each night to coat my hair in mayonnaise and plastic wrap and then wrapped it all up in a bandana in an attempt to fully exorcise the demons using one of the home remedies I found on Google. At the time it was 100 degrees in the shade. Not only was I miserable, but I was shunned by my roommates for my sulphuric haze, and I am about 87% sure I am the reason the dog developed asthma.
• A friend of Ali and Char was down on her luck, so they offered her and her five year old daughter the opportunity to stay with us. I was not a fan of this plan. For a while, the friend was unemployed, so she watched TV constantly, her face six inches from the screen, ROCKING BACK AND FORTH THE ENTIRE TIME like a meth addict waiting for the candy man to come take the shakes away. Her daughter was hyperactive and loud, so one Saturday I told her that although I was a mandatory reporter as a school district employee, I am not mandated to report myself if I ever just want to take off and beat a kid bloody. She at least stayed away from my bedroom door on Saturday mornings after that.
• While I was living with Ali and Char the movie "Dreamgirls" came out, which is only noteworthy insofar as it changed Ali's entire religion. Target, which had been my boon companion prior to this point, betrayed me by providing Ali with her very own copy of the soundtrack, which she sang along with every morning while getting ready for work. At first this was fine, since Ali has one of the ten best voices I have ever heard in person, however, much like "Semi-Charmed Life" lost its sheen for me after the 1598th iteration, so too did "I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" and various other ditties belted by Beyonce et. al. Thank heavens for "Glee" or I would have never made peace with that motown-based soul musical.

Apartment #3

Timeframe: January 2008-September 2008

Apartment: Overpriced apartment complex in Wilsonville, which is just south of bum-f--- Egypt by about 60 miles.

Roommates: Satan's two bitchy older sisters.

Highlights:

• I anticipate this highlights section to be fairly short for two reasons- 1) I have blocked most of the memories of my experiences from living in this apartment out of my head, and 2) it's hard to know what happens in the rest of your house when you do not leave your bedroom for 10 months.
• The first week that I lived with my roommates, I saw that they had fanned out the magazines on the coffee table. I picked one out and read it and put it back on the table, but out of place. I came back the next day to find it fanned again, so I did a little experiment and pushed them out of place by a microscopic amount. They were perfect again when I came back. I hoped for an neat-freak poltergeist that would eventually kill me, but realized quickly that the situation was likely much, much worse and that the ones I should fear were still alive and would see killing me as a mercy.
• Here was the difference between my roommates and I- Me: Knew boys. Hung out with boys. Enjoyed company of boys. Occasionally kissed boys. Them: Used parts of the nether-regions of boys to brew spells in their evil cauldrons of celibacy. I was hanging out with two fairly attractive male friends one night when I realized I had to go to the bathroom. I knew it would be more than a minute, so I told the guys that I needed to go back to my place to change my shirt, because I didn't want them to know I needed to take a deuce. I invited them in, only to find my roommates in the kitchen wearing pajamas, no makeup, and no bras, making crepes that they were eating with their hands. The boys were polite and joked around with them, but I still got the evil death stare of "WHY ARE YOU RUINING OUR LIVES?" which solved my problem of having to poop- for about two weeks.
• My roommates and I did not talk to each other aside from with the white board for THREE MONTHS. Yeah. It was THAT apartment.
• One of my roommates was a teacher, the other a student in law school. They both left for the summer and when they did, they stripped their bedrooms of all linens, took down the shower curtain in their bathroom, and took the couch pillows with them. I am assuming this is because I am a filthy person that was going to filth up their space in their absence. They should not have worried about me filthing up the place while they were gone for the summer. They SHOULD have worried about me licking all the dishes and silverwear before I moved out. Which I did.

Limbo September 2008

The bottom fell out of the place that I had been planning to move into, so I found my new roommate on Craigslist, but the room was not available until midway through the month. I had already put in my intent to vacate (and I had no desire to stay in the seventh circle of Hell for longer than necessary), so I gave my friend Kim some money to let me stay in the new apartment that she would not have time to move into until mid-month. I had my clothes and toiletries where I could find them as well as my Supernatural and Psych DVDs. I lived off this and food help in paper cups for two weeks. Six square feet of personal space and moldy windows that gave me a substantial cold that stayed in my lungs for four months was still better than the 10 months that came before it.

House #3

Timeframe: September 2008-August 2010

House: Family home in VERY southwest Portland (one more hill and it was Lake Oswego).

Roommates: Very nice woman from Mexico; her Australian Shepherd named Lucky that followed me from room to room; her boyfriend, Mike, on the weekends; and a snotty but gorgeous college-age daughter that I unfortunately had to share a bathroom with during the summers and who thought it was my responsibility to clean her towels.

Highlights:

• I moved into the basement- at the time, I was thrilled because it was huge, had a Portland address (Multnomah County, bitchez!), and was three miles from my work. My family and friends feigned interest in it, but it was a hole in the ground with no windows. Hey- I thought the guy in a women's silk robe holding a pomeranian while standing at the top of the stairs was just offering me tips on skin care.
• I found out quickly that despite the fact that I was renting a room and did not share in any of the "communal space", my roommate took deep offense to being called a "landlord." Until I asked her to cash my rent check late. Then she took to the role surprisingly well.
• In the Winter of 2008 there was a vicious snowstorm in Portland. I did not have to go to work for several days and neither did my roommate (or much of the rest of Portland). I am very good at having time off- I like to read, watch TV on DVD, chat with friends on the phone AND computer, and sleep, my gosh, sleep. My roommate- who was extremely Type A- was not good at having time off and was constantly asking me if I wanted to do things with her. After a 1 hour walk during which I almost fell and broke my arse four times as well as an ill-advised attempt to introduce her to the Whedon-verse, I pretended to be asleep every time she popped her head into a room. This proved especially awkward while I was on the toilet.
• This was the first time I lived with a roommate who had a romantic partner that was a stay-the-night friend. I would come home very late sometimes and, being a child of the new millenium, I would check my Facebook before I went to bed. The only computer with internet access was in the living room, just next to my roommate's bedroom. One evening, while in social networking stalker-mode for my latest hoped-for paramour, I heard a sudden and guttural male moan of the "Mike is tapping that" variety. I froze in place, and when I suddenly heard the higher-pitched female squeal confirm that "Mike IS tapping that!", I practically vaulted down the stairs to my room, to the comfort of my waiting headphones and old school Led Zeppelin. I knew I needed to move out when I realized that I had just become privy to someone ELSE'S parents doing it.
• The dog loved men. I mean he LOVED men. He loved my best male friend in particular, which was sweet, right up until he found it fit to come up and nuzzle said friend's privates every time the guy sat down. They don't name dogs "Lucky" for their lack of willingness to try . . .

Apartment #4 aka Current Digs

Timeframe: September 2010- Whenever I die.

Apartment: The world's most perfect apartment- 1 bedroom apartment with a huge kitchen, living room, bedroom, front closet, and back porch (not a euphemism). The place even has an air-conditioner, which is absolutely unheard of in Oregon. My perfect place was inherited from a male friend that knew I was looking, and he swears that if I ever do move out, he wants first dibs on getting it back. Hahaha. Silly man- I plan on dying horrifically here, just so that I can stay here for all eternity as a vengeful spirit. It's that good.

Roommates: Kristen on Tuesday nights. Possibly a cat at some point in the future.

Highlights:

• I inherited my friend Amber's couch from her parents. Amber enjoys telling me every time that she comes over that she has "many fond memories" of this couch. I have a weird tendency to make out less on my furniture than my friends do, and I am thinking- that's gotta stop. Applications currently being accepted for anyone that would like to break it in with me. No chicks or fugmos, please.
• I was showering recently, when my mind started to wander. I realized that my friend James lived in this place for a long time. He and his buds were constantly together on the weekends- and it is doubtless that during that time, there may have been necessary wardrobe changes- dirt-biking to Saturday night, work to play, casual to Turkish bath, etc. Quickly, I realized that about half the guys I know have been naked in my apartment at one time or another. My apartment- where I conduct my own nakedness! I am not sure if this makes me a slut or a victim of poor timing.
• My amazing apartment has made me a bit of a hermit. The only reason I go out anymore is to come home to my own little patch of awesomeness and revel in how great it is to live alone. Add to that the giant HD TV that I recently purchased and the result is that my skin now makes a sizzling noise whenever I step out into the sunlight.
• My closest male friend never had a problem with volume control until I moved into a place with neighbors in the very immediate vicinity. Now all of the sudden, our talks about Europe lead to him screaming about Paris at the top of his voice for no particular reason. After one evening where he yelled, "Oh gosh, no, NO, Laurie- NO!" he was given a stern talking-to about the fact that if he was going to yell things in my apartment in the middle of the night, they had to make me sound like I was really GOOD in the sack.
• The trees behind my apartment are amazing. I live on the edge of Fern Gully, but without the annoyance of tiny overly moral wood sprites that get pissed when I do no recycle.
• I recently realized that with Kristen being my only overnight visitor that my neighbors- who I do not know- probably think that I am gay. Two thoughts struck me at this: 1) If I were gay, I could do a LOT worse than Kristen, so good for me for being able to score a hotty, and 2) I need to get a boyfriend.

So, there you have it. My housing history for the last ten years. The lessons have been many- never live with two best friends when you are the odd one out, do not feign interest in a roommate's neice or nephew's life at all because you will see that child again and they WILL tell you the entire plot to High School Musical unsolicited, and most importantly don't talk in your sleep about the boy sleeping on your couch. Oh, and then of course there were the three evictions and the court order against me, but that's a story for another time.

Oklahoma is my least favorite musical.

Oy. Has this week ever been insane.

As you all know, my mild-mannered day job is that of non-profit conference and event planner. Some of the most sexy of my job duties include the determining how much coffee 50 people are likely to consume between the hours of 10:00 AM and 2:00 PM, which trainer will hate me the least upon being asked to stand in for one of their peers that suddenly planned a last minute trip to Guam, and deciding where the conference is going to be located from year-to-year. Of all the responsibilities laid at my (cluttered) office door, the one that is usually the most fun for me is the last of these.

Because my organization is a national non-profit, we hold our conference in cities throughout the United States. The decision as to general region is made by the higher-ups and is usually based upon where we have the most constituency. In order to choose the hotel properties though, someone has to visit those states in particular and view the facilities in order to determine which of these may be right for our participants. That person is me. This responsibility has been pretty awesome- sending me to places I do not have the cheddar to visit myself, such as Florida and Alaska. I also get spoiled while I am there- getting fun swag and staying in luxurious locations. Not a bad way to spend your 9-5.

This week, I undertook the slightly less glamorous task of visiting Tulsa, Oklahoma, in an effort to find the location of our 2014 conference. The work portion of this trip can be summed up with the following bullet points:

• Tuesday night: Check-in. Hotel #1. Fellowshippers conference taking place- man those Christians know how to rock out! Oh, they gave me a double queen room instead of a king (mental scratching-out noise in my head). Free chocolate!


• Wednesday Morning: Hotel Tours. Lots of food. Too many stairs. Thank you for the steno pad holder and flash drive with the hotel name on it, it will make the perfect addition to my collection.


• Wednesday afternoon: Check-in. Casino Hotel. Oh my gosh, they gave me a three room suite. Giant gift basket of food! Tub built for three! Six-head shower! TV that emerges from a cabinet with a remote! Maybe I should go pick someone up at the bar, just to show off . . .


• Thursday Morning: Casino Hotel site tour. Oh no, my salesman is gorgeous and looks like Jack from "Lost". Don't they have any ugly salespeople? How do they expect me to do business when I cannot form coherent sentences? Those are nice shoes. Oh, he's gay. This I can work with.

This brings us to Thursday afternoon, where I checked in at the airport for my flight home. I was ready. Oklahoma was approximately 102 degrees in the shade, and I have sweat coming out of crevices that were not even aware of the existence of sweat prior to this trip. I stepped onto the plane and it was the tiniest plane that I have ever seen. I looked around to see if my fellow passengers were clowns who had decided to take to the skies but maintain the hilarity of a miniscule means of transportation. Excluding the woman with the heavy makeup and New Jersey accent, they were not. Prior to the stress-based semi-blackout I can remember having the cogent thought of, "Wow- how much would it suck to get stuck on THIS plane?"

Stoooooopid.

A lot happened in a short period of an hour and a half. Ten minutes after heading out onto the tarmac, we were informed that air traffic control was not allowing anyone into Denver and that we would have to wait an hour just to hear any news.

At this point, things got ugly.

In the interest of keeping this account light and brief, the highlights were these: 1) an old man is threatened with being put on the no-fly list, 2) the stewardess aptly exhibits the lack of crisis management training in the United Airlines air hosting program by yelling at the passengers, 3) my plane-based claustrophobia rears its ugly head, and 4) the pilot experienced first degree burns all over his lower extremities, resultant consequence of the LIES to us about our estimated time of departure and the effects of such fallacies upon ones pants. Truth told, it was the worst 90 minutes that I have experienced in recent history.

Gratefully, the people in charge of my trip were able to connect me with a free hotel for the night which provided a free shuttle from the airport. This free shuttle turned out to be a life-saver since I was twiced peed upon by Lady Luck and forgot my wallet at the airport. It was 9:00 at night when I had to be taken back to Tulsa International by a sweet older gentleman with large teeth and a lazy eye named Manuel. Sigh.

Today, I hit the airport again, only to learn that my second flight had been cancelled and that the first flight out would be tomorrow morning at 6:30 AM. This will mean that, on the morning that I turn 29, I will be up at 4:00 AM, getting on my third scheduled flight in as many days. Hopefully, the scheduling on this one is not just theoretical.

Needless to say, this has made me grumpy. In the shuttle on the way back to the hotel, I sat with my hands behind my head thinking, "I am never leaving this ridiculous city." and threw myself a good old-fashioned pity party complete with teeth gnashing and comparisons between the city of Tulsa and Satan's sweaty ass crack.

Then I stopped and told myself to stop feeling like life's bitch.

I have a good life. An extraordinary one really, and this is really just a bump. It's not even a real bump- it's one that I am seeing through a great big magnifying glass known as lack of perspective, and as soon as I take that magnifying glass away it will lose both its importance to the overall picture, as well as its excruciating definition. With this in mind, I would like to take advantage of the opportunity to do something positive that I have made a pretty regular practice for some years now.

Every year on a holiday (usually Thanksgiving or Christmas, but I have done birthdays before too), I take advantage of the opportunity to write down a list of people, places, things, experiences, feelings, etc. for which I am extremely grateful. It helps to remind me of why I am here and that I need to constantly be working to re-pay those that love me- both earthly and otherwise- for all that I have been given. It also helps when I need to get over myself, as is clearly the case today.

So without further ado, I give you:

Awesomeness Squared- The Good Bits v.2011

1. My family. I have amazing and inspiring parents that believe in social justice, empowering future generations, and the potential of a human mind. My siblings have each made choices this year that have showed that they are advocates for happiness- both for themselves, their partners, and their children. My neices and nephews are hilarious, generous, sweet, fierce, and strong. When I grow up, I want to be like all of you.


2. My faith. Although I struggle, I have been given the opportunity in my life to feel that there is truth- something absolute, finite, and unchanging. I know that there is something greater than myself because I have had the opportunity to find solace when there should have been only darkness, and because I have too often been fortunate to be on the receiving end of "right time, right place."


3. My friends. Over the last 15 years, people have floated in and out of my life for various reasons and seasons. To them, I am grateful for the game-changing, for being a part of the cheering section, and for the memories forever immortalized by my addiction to literary documentation. To my "lifers"- there aren't words. We have grown up together, cried together, shared our most important moments, suffered through death, illness, and constant change . . . and we did it all while looking fab. I love you with all the bits of me.


4. My job. I applied to work at my organization with the intention of quitting as soon as I got a better job. Who knew the better job would be within the same organization? I love what I do- I love the playing on computers, working with money, working with people, anticipating needs and problems of certain situations. As this job evolves and my responsibilities take on more of the attributes of my strengths, I realize how much it is true that sometimes we clear our path, and sometimes the path is cleared for us because it is the one we need to follow.


5. Writing. I figure myself and the world out by putting my fingers to a keyboard. I haven't found my whole story yet, but as soon as I do, I promise to jot it down.


6. Weaving. Thank heavens I dropped my "History of Theater" course Winter Term of 1997.


7. Books. Thank you Sherman Alexie, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Ray Bradbury, J.K. Rowling, Rudolfo Anaya, Kurt Vonnegut, J.D. Salinger, Michael Chabon, Shel Silverstein, Cormac McCarthy, Roald Dahl, David Sedaris, Stephen King, Anis Mojgani, George Orwell, Oscar Wilde, and Dr. Seuss. To those I have forgotten- you know who you are.


8. My apartment. Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood, when blackness was a virtue, the road was full of mud. I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form, Come in, she said, I'll give you shelter from the storm.


9. Music. I love to sing- sometimes it sounds good. Sometimes it doesn't. For the most part, I love the performers that I discovered in my late teens- Guster, Matt Nathanson, Ani DiFranco, late sixties Beatles. I think I love them mostly because they have the fingerprint of my twenties in their lyrics. Honorary mention to Bob Dylan, Glen Hansard, and Van Morrison, all of whose voices and lyrics are what I hope forever sounds like.


10. The Ocean. We have been out of touch for a while. I think it is time we reconnected.

I better leave soon- it's unfortunate that my vehicle for meditation is also the means by which others check their Facebook and there is a line beginning to form for this public terminal. I leave though, feeling richly blessed and ready to enjoy the king-sized bed waiting for me to climb into its cloud-like Egyptian cotton sheets. Remembering the reasons that I wake up each day makes me feel a little bit better able to handle what life tosses my way.

If they cancel my flight again though, someone is losing a testicle.