Last year at this time.

I had a boyfriend.
I was sitting in Section 3.
I was living by myself.
Now I am not.

I was happy God and I weren’t fighting anymore.

I weighed ten pounds more.
I had a different last name.
I owned no cats.

I heard “I love you” from a man and for once didn’t freak out.

I was telling my boyfriend to call his ex back.
I was trying to remember just how young 19-21 years old was.
It was much older.
I’ve gotten younger.

I was a hot topic of conversation.
I was boring. And nice. And didn’t care.
I’m still boring. And don’t care.

I was listening to the same song over and over.
And over.
I’m not anymore.
It’s a different song.

I had no idea that next year at this time I would be married.
I had no idea how in love I could be.
And still function.

Don't ya think?

Doing what I do on a daily basis, the most misused word I come across is irony (ironic, ironically, etc.). It's admittedly a subjective interpretation sometimes, and it's easier to figure out what's not ironic than it is to decide what is. For example, rain on your wedding day or a free ride when you've already paid is NOT ironic. Four specific definitions of irony exist: irony, dramatic irony, Socratic irony, and tragic irony. You can look them up in any dictionary. And it's kind of fun to do so, even if you're not a weirdo like me.

http://merriam-webster.com/dictionary/irony

So this blog is going to be participatory, if anyone is actually reading.
I've come up with a few examples of irony. I listed them.

Things that are ironic:
George Bush not recognizing Zimbabwe's president because Zimbabwe's president wasn't elected.

Swearing on a stack of Bibles not to mock evangelicals.

A can opener sold inside a can.

Alanis Morisette's song "Ironic" not being ironic.

A vegetarian getting eaten by a cow.

A truck carrying fire extinguishers catching on fire.

A book about poverty making a lot of money.

An English professor writing on a paper that you have "bad grammer."

An Irishman getting killed by a sign that says "Luck o' the Irish" :-)

Now it's your turn to add to the list.
Leave something ironic as a comment. It'll be sweet.

Jesus action figure deluxe.

In the magical way catalogues find their way to your new address even when you don’t inform the catalogues, another Jesus action figure has found its way into my world. Well, the promise of another Jesus action figure anyway; this particular Jesus’ creator needs money in order to share him with me.

What makes this Jesus deluxe are the accessories that come with him: two jugs for water/wine, five loaves of bread, and two fish. And his hands glow in the dark—a sure sign of a person’s ability to perform miracles. This new edition of Jesus is also slightly more risqué, exposing his ankles with a shorter tunic. He also appears to be more confident, wearing his hair in a style that shows his face. Confidence, and a blase attitude toward ankle exposure are what all sons of God should have. And glow-in-the-dark hands.

My Jesus action figure.

A few years ago I thought I'd be funny and buy my Jewish friend a Moses action figure for Hannukah. I always forgot to wish him happy Hanukkah. The year I bought Moses, Hanukkah fell close to Christmas, and so I remembered. I'm culturally sensitive like that. So to atone for my not-paying-attentionness, I bought my friend the aformentioned culturally sensitive gift. He in turn bought me Jesus. It turns out Moses was two dollars more than Jesus, because he had a staff and the Ten Commandments with him. Jesus just has his hands, which, I suppose, are all he needs. And he also rolls on wheels, or glides if you prefer.

We thought about discussing who would win in a fight between the two action figures, but then we decided not to. I concluded anyway that Jesus would probably rather take Mo to the nearest water fountain, have a glass of wine, and talk about it. And the fight would totally suck anyway. Jesus would touch Moses, heal his anger, and take the fight right out of him. (As you can tell I am assuming Moses would start this fight since he is the one carrying around weapons.)

I bring this up because I found Jesus yesterday in a box that (1) had been sitting on my parents' porch since February then (2) had been sitting in the corner of my living room since late July. Before his box stay he stood vigil on my two-dollar coffee table in my former, much smaller, much quieter apartment. He faced the door. His loving face and outstretched arms, though plastic, were poised to shame any burglar who tried to break in. And they were poised to welcome me home. It turns out the people who wanted to take something from me tried to do so in other ways, or they burgled and realized I had nothing of value. OR, Jesus saved.

But it's a good refrain.

This blog is a repeat. I wrote it on October 14.

My semipro hockey injury

Tonight at the B-Sens game, which they lost, I was sitting in the wonderful company seats. I'm not saying "wonderful" in a sarcastic manner. They really are great seats--lots of leg room, a wall to put your feet/beer on, 4 rows from the ice. However, your line of vision lays just above the Plexiglas, which means a puck could enter your line of vision, strike your hand, then bounce off of your husband's chest.

Well I'm kind of proud of my badass injury, mostly because I didn't get hit in the face. That would have been more embarrassing. Instead, with my catlike reflexes I saw the puck out of the corner of my eye and got my hands in front of my face. That the puck wasn't moving too horribly fast takes nothing away from my reflexes being catlike. Like a champ I reassured my concerned section that I was okay. "Did you get the puck?" a fellow fan asked. Tim proudly placed it in my hand. Yes, I have an Official game puck, which was frozen, which was used for the rest of the game to ice my swollen finger :-) (It even has my blood on it.

I figured such an important event in a girl's life needed documenting. It only hit my finger. I still have all my teeth. My nose is already crooked.

In a room without a door.

Since I'm not mysterious, mostly because I can't pull it off (and because I don't see the point), I'll share with you the meaning behind my blog's title. But first, a little history.

Early in my senior year of college I was given a CD by a boy, whose name I can't remember. Eric or Derek or Aaron. Or Frank. I don't know. Frank had a brother who had gone or was going to SUNY Purchase, and had heard play a fellow student who had now self-released a CD. He described her as being Bjork and Tori Amos's rebellious and funny child. So of course I listened to her CD that night, and it became a staple for the long drives back and forth from home and school, and especially for when writing stories for my writer's workshops classes. It was different. It was something my roommates didn't like. I either wore the CD out or gave it away by the end of my senior year. It was 11:11 by Regina Spektor, who now is way hip and all over the place. I never ended up buying Songs, or Soviet Kitsch (her other albums), and only listened to her once in a great, great while after college. I was a bad lover. But I've been listening to her new one, Begin to Hope, a lot lately. It's super. I actually heard her song "On the Radio" on Grey's Anatomy last year, and that is what catapulted me back in to another Regina phase. Way to go Grey's Anatomy--except for the whole letting Denny die thing.

So, after all of that very important information, I took my blog name from a line in Regina's song "Baobabs" that says, "How am I supposed to be? I don't have my thorns now. And I feel them sprouting. They'll grow right through if I don't watch it. They'll grow right through even if I watch it. A sunset couldn't save me now."

I'm not going to ruin the line by explaining it. Think about it and you'll get it.
So now, even if you didn't care, or didn't care until I brought it up, you know.

P.S. "On a pumpkin" refers to a Thoreau quote. I'll let you look it up yourself.

Learning to fly on the way down.

I have a blog. Because I want a blog. I'm not going to pretend I created this for anyone other than myself; I'm not that important. If you are reading this, I'm flattered. The point of a blog after all is to have some kind of audience. Since you are reading this, it's only fair to disclaim I will most likely be none of the following: interesting, original, clever, witty, poetic, profound, enlightening, or cute. Many other adjectives will no doubt apply instead. So stay tuned sports fans.