Just some sunshine for this rainy day

I found this lovely lady through one of my friends who epitomizes sunshine. (her name rhymes with schmelissa pamsey)

Look this girl up on Etsy! It´s called the Wheatfield by Katie Daisy. Your day will instantaneously be brightened. And, look at her states. I want a Mississippi one!

Just remember, April showers bring May flowers!

Fountain of Youth

Two weeks before my 21st birthday I wake up to discover a new cowlick that has formed on the right side of my head. Just mere centimeters above my right ear.

Did I drink from the Fountain of Youth by accident?

At my most recent trip to visit the mister in DC, I was stopped and questioned about my ID. She told me there was no way I was 20.

Yet, last December, I tried to pose as 14 for the role of True Grit. Yes, that's right, I auditioned for True Grit. Now let me review you. I was 20 years old. I was a sophomore at a University. But in my stardom filled mind, I thought I could pull it off.

Because let's face it. Lizzy McGuire. Grey's Anatomy. The OC. Anybody really believe they are the ACTUAL age they are portraying?

Umm...no. Gordo? Remember Lizzie's male sidekick? He was 17 when the show started. A 17 year old starring in a show about the trials and tribulations of a middle schooler.

So, I thought I could do it. Well turns out, the lady knew her stuff. Despite my efforts to look like a puberty stricken 14 year old who had a bizarre growth spurt (but let's face it, at 5'3"that's not really a growth spurt) they shot me down faster than you can say Hollywood. Their first statement to me was nothing of a statement but of a exclamation that had a question mark dangling at the end of it....HOW OLD ARE YOU!?

The moral of this story is that A) do not try to convince casting agents that you are in the 12-14 range and B) age is really just a number.

I think it is so funny how each year we are never content with our age. At 4, you cannot wait to be 5 (a whole hand!!!) At 15, all you can think about is will you be kissed by your sweet 16 (~~~LoLz, OmG~~~)? And at 17, you want to be 18 to vote (because you are suddenly so politically involved) and at 20, you just want to be 21.

Funny, because once you inch your way to 21, you turn into (or maybe just me) this character who lives in a dream requiem or a memory. Remember that cheer competition that we all fell in a stampede like fashion? Remember when I cried at Vacation Bible School for not getting the role as head lamb? Am I really almost a Senior? Remember that time...that once...

When does one stop balancing the tightrope of remember when...and can't wait until?

William Faulkner said," The past is never dead. It's not even past."

We live so much in the past that the past is never really...past.

I wish I could be really scholarly right now and explain that to you better. But that's the beauty. It's open-ended.

Regardless of my cowlicks, of my turned down roles ( that girl was freakin nominated for an Oscar!!!) or for the airline personnel who thinks I'm in fact 12 (if only she was working the casting call that fateful December day)....I am going to love my age. And its quirks. And its perks.

So, hair gel anyone? I think I am going to need some this year...and when I am 50.

The reality

This is what I wish I could be doing today. Every last bit of it all the way up to the o so cool headband/scarf mix she's got going on.

Instead....I am Tony.

I used to chant "that's alright, that's okay, you're going to pump my gas someday."

But now gas is totally self-service.

So looks like the joke is on me.

Here's to being a nerd. And to pumping my own gas.

Writer's Block.

I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN WORKING ON THIS ARTICLE FOR A WEEK AND I HAVE NOTHING!!

ZILCH.

NADA.

ZERO.

I know ALL CAPS can be annoying but that's exactly what I am right now. ANNOYED!!

I sorta thought that I would be a natural at this whole magazine writing thing. You know, I have the imigination, the crazy childhood, and the insight to be this crazy soulful writer. A writer that makes my professors be like PUBLIC POLICY?? YOU CRAZAY FOOL! YOU MISSED YOUR CALLING! IT'S WRITING!!

In fact, I wanted, prayed, and dreamed that would happen. That my purpose in life would just fall in my lap. That this beautiful swell of music would play in my heart and mind as I pound the typewriter, eyes racing with the cursor, and flowing with the energy in my huge, vast, wise, mind.

reality.check.

That doesn't happen. Even when you cut on Pandora. Tried that.

Or drink Coca-cola. Tried that.

Or look at photography to inspire you. Tried that.

So, what I am dealing with is an article that is kicking me in the butt. hard. like black belt hard.

and the fact, that God might not have made the whole "I'm a writer" be the answer to the question that hounds me: WHO IN THE FREAK AM I??

Heavenly Father, I sorta of thought this would be the window. But I think it's a door.

The phrase when God closes a door, He opens a window hounds me. I keep finding doors. I need some windows. A) because it is getting stuffy B) I just really want some answers.

Well, the barge industry might not be a Pulitzer. Or maybe even "A" worthy. But at least, it has given me the reality check that I needed to cash-in.

I know, I know, don't give up. But seriously guys. It's 2:15 in the morning. And I have exactly 2 paragraphs. This is for a magazine. A MAGAZINE! Not a for a TA. Not for a professor. But for a public. (!!!)And a darn good public at that. The whole "I'm so over college thing" doesn't really apply to this because...in a sense..this ain't college. This is life.

And so here I am back at square one. Yet revitalized that at least I can still write on this here blog. Even if it is fragments, run-on sentences, and a contraction or two..or three...or four...

I truly feel like the star in every movie/tv show that is just so angsty about not being able to write. And in a way, I feel like Carrie Bradshaw at the end of the Sex and the City. Ranting to her laptop and making sense out of life.

She just has better shoes than me. That's all.

So xoxo, Carrie Bradshaw-esque (but not really) Breland

PS-Carrie, I totes have your hair. Just sayin'

Romantic Weekend? Eh..What do you consider romantic?

I know it's gooby. But I have one of those relationships that every time I say goodbye to my boyfriend we plan the next trip to see each other. So, since Christmas, we planned a weekend in February to see each other. That's just what you got to do when you live thousands of miles away from each other.

So, like any couple, we planned to see each other valentine's weekend. But then Columns Society got in the way of that. So the next weekend. Of course!

But of course, it's me. Can my life be that simple? No. NO. NO NO!!

Monday:Valentine's.

Tuesday:Elections. I am fine.

Wednesday: Is that fever I feel? Maybe. I will go to the doctor. Oh doctor, I do not have the flu? Okay great. Yes, you can give me two shots. I am going out of town this weekend.

Thursday: I feel okay. It's time to go see Richard.

Friday: Congrats! It's "you got the flu" friday!!! Yippee! BECAUSE IT IS THE ONE TIME YOU CAN GET SICK!

It would have been a terrible weekend but...

Here we had spent all this money (we split the airplane ticket fare) and I was sick the whole time. However, it made me love him in a whole new way. He had no problem letting me know I still had snot on my face. He had no problem feeling my head for fever, fetching more tylenol. He had no problem with just sitting in, scouring hulu for good reruns. He had a gift for me every day in DC but the real gift he never intended on giving was playing my doctor. He is a huge planner and to have me ruin his plans...well he just went along with it.
I hope you all get to meet him and even though my valentines day weekend mainly involved sudafed, tylenol, some kleenex and a whole lot of parks and recreation..it still involved the guy I that I kinda of love. :)
So this is my ode to Richard.

Thanks for having the role of my boyfriend in my sitcom life. I am sorry that it makes you get involved on my terrible comedic timing of a life.

So turns out the flu can be romantic....in the "honey, you've got a bat in the cave" type of way.
He deserves it.

Peace out 2010!!!

Peace out 2010! Wasssup 2011??

It is almost overwhelming to think back on my first semester and tell you everything that has happened.

I tried (and succeeded) with SUPER long distance relationship. (wassup 14 hours away?!)

I lost a major thanks to the liberal arts department. Minor in journalism, anyone?

I finally let go of my GPA and held closer to my friends.

I got the new name of scarimanna. It is one of endearment. I promise...or at least I hope.

I sacrificed a huge goal and lost another.

I learned you can't always get what you want. It was a really hard one to swallow.

I kept a nursery at a church. Diapers have nothing on me now.

I watched relationships form. I saw break-ups unfold.

I saw the Rebels play not so well. Let's hear it for the golf team.

I am still trying to juggle how to accept friend's lifestyles but not be a part of them.

I had a friend come out of the closet. An evening and a conversation I will never forget.

I fell in love with photography and now I eat, sleep, and dream it.

I started keeping a journal of all the books or movie plots I would like to submit. It's got a 100% of never leaving my red moleskin but it makes me feel like a struggling soulful writer...so I keep the habit.

I am still trying to realize God is always present. And that in moments of defeat, He is there. And in moments of victory, He is there.

I am trying to improve prayer life....eesshh...not going so well.

I am sorta trying to decide what to do after May 2012.

But, alas, it is only January 2011. This day ain't over.

So, now, I am going to live it.

The Series Finale

The Series Finale is not usually the second entry or episode of the show.

But, when I have ever done anything on time?

Tonight, I had to say goodbye to the leading man in my TV show life.

Over a year ago, I drove my little white car to Philadelphia for the first time. My nerves were fluttering in my stomach. I was blasting air conditioner to deter the glistening sweat that was forming all over due to the incoming meeting.

I was on my way to meet Don and Sharon McKay and all of Philadelphia.

Naturally, because it is me, I got lost due to my GPS system, who is lovingly called Jean after my fifth grade teacher ( not so lovingly). It had me turned all the way around.

I get there. And a question that is so simple yet so vital--ring the doorbell or knock? Knocking sounds so harsh. Ringing the doorbell seems so alarming.

I do not remember what I did but I do remember walking in the door, sitting the down, and thinking...I can eat Thanksgiving for the rest of my life with these people.

That was my first of my many pilgrimages to Philadelphia.

And tonight, I made my last.

Richard, my leading man, is moving to Washington DC to follow his political dreams.

And in so doing, my trips to Philly are ending as well.

It was an ending perfect for a TV show-I ate dinner at a restaurant I have been begging Richard to take me to ever since we started dating.

We ate with his friends who have become my friends.

And I said goodbye to the Philly life, but as I was doing it, a song played and Don waved goodbye.

I hate waiting for the new tv season to start because you never know what is in store.

And you always think it cannot get better than last season.

Here's to a great season. And a great ending.

And hopefully, a wonderful beginning.