On Impromptu Haiku and Nightstand Flirtations and Finishing My Little Amateur Wizard Experiment

The past four weeks have held a specific glow. The glow of "This month is magic, damn it, so if things don't go the way I want, THEN THERE MUST BE SOMETHING GREATER THAN MY TIGHTLY GRIPPED NOTIONS OF 'HOW LIFE SHOULD BE' AT WORK HERE. Pretty sure there is, come to think of it.

A lot has shifted this month. I was seeing someone, now I'm not. My income jumped and then plummeted. Then it started climbing again. New friends, new work, new colleagues, new mentors, lots of candy cane green tea, and honing in on what I want next year to look like. Magic happened, even if it was of the small kind.

At least it felt small at the time. Looking back, it feels like bigger things are in motion now than a month ago. We'll see.

Last Bits of Official Magic

Boasting about my pentameter prowess only to have a date call me on it by making me answer a question via on-the-spot haiku. I FUCKING OWNED THAT HAIKU, Y'ALL. Yeah, I had to count on my fingers as I went, so I might be passed over for Poet Laureate next year, but I'm feeling pretty proud.

Plotting Essay Domination

My brain hamsters have a perfection complex. It's a wily combination of ego and stubbornness that gleefully sabotages a whole lot of plans and dreams and makes eating fried chicken in bed sound like the best idea ever. *

* Let's not kid ourselves, sometimes eating fried chicken in bed is the best idea ever. Just not as often as you might want to believe.

Every time you want to do something and your brain jumps in with a "yeah, but...." Every time you stop, not because stopping is the right choice but because it's not turning out exactly the way you hoped. Every time you quit before you even started. All perfectionism at work, man. So I'm going to write a series of essays that takes the exasperating brain hamsters off their wheel and sticks them on the electric chair.* I'm super excited about this, because my entire life has been fodder for this project. I'll keep you posted.

* Too violent? Nah. SAY GOODNIGHT, BRAIN HAMSTERS.

That Time I Learned My Nightstand Was a Waddling Strumpet

One of my first Web Crush Sundays was devoted to Killing My Lobster, a sketch comedy group for whom I've nursed a doting fondness since 2004.

Earlier this week, I did an interview with Victoria about my nightstand. I posted the link on Twitter and soon Killing My Lobster's nightstand was flirting with my nightstand and I don't even know how to explain what happened next.

https://twitter.com/#!/killingmylobstr/status/146679696304775168 https://twitter.com/#!/amberadrian/status/146680143153332224 https://twitter.com/#!/amberadrian/status/146680381838598144 https://twitter.com/#!/killingmylobstr/status/146684143407865856 https://twitter.com/#!/amberadrian/status/146692594078982144 https://twitter.com/#!/killingmylobstr/status/146696047144599553 https://twitter.com/#!/amberadrian/status/146708017503682561

I think it's safe to assume that Timmy and Betty are busy making beautiful ottoman babies.

Leaving You With Words From Roald Dahl, Who Is The Most Magical Of Them All

And above all watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.

Sometimes, With Extra Hash Browns

Sometimes I get really concerned when I notice the dog's not on the bed with me any more. I jump up to look for him, even though there's nowhere for him to go. Unless he learned how to vaporize through walls, he's just sprawled out on the other bed. Yup, there he is. Sometimes I think everybody hates me. I'm fairly certain this isn't true, but in darker moments, it becomes the answer to a lot of questions.

Sometimes I eat a week's worth of groceries in three days. I'm not sure how this happens, but it must be some biological instinct left over from the days when a slight chill in temperature meant an ice age was nigh so better eat all those hash browns now.

Sometimes you just have to be a fucking adult and feel your fucking feelings. For the record, I don't like to do this. I prefer to send melodramatic emails.

Sometimes I would give just about anything to have someone crack my back. Anyone? "Just about anything" includes 12 dollars in cash, the two hash browns I have left, and/or a cute but needy German Pointer.

Sometimes the smallest things can make my day, like drinking hot apple cider while wearing a turquoise fleece jacket and listening to the rain on the window.

Life List: Marrying Me, Willy Wonka Style

When most of your romantic stories are entitled The Sex Worker In The Basement or That Time I Dragged Becca All Over The City So I Could Make Out With a Hot Guy In a Bar, people have a lot of questions. Like, "Hold on. Are we talking Russian sex slave?" and "Any hot guy or did you have a specific one in mind?" (No, no, and yes.)

When most of your romantic stories start out that way, you have to admit that you probably aren't marrying another human any time soon.

Why This is Absolutely and Unequivocally Okay with Me

You shouldn't ever marry someone unless you're sure. I've never been sure. Plus, the thought of walking down a church aisle in a white dress while everyone stares makes me faintly nauseous. Spending a year of my life trying to decide who gets invited and what gets eaten and where to put garlands of things makes me want to change my name and move to Omaha.

So why I decided to throw an amazing, obnoxious, sparkly Willy Wonka-themed wedding by and for myself remains a complete mystery. Also, it doesn't. Can you imagine the insane shit such an event would allow? Golden tickets as invitations and men in top hats and bubble wars and banquet tables full of chocolate. There would be fairy lights and dancing and sparklers and all of my favorite people in one place at the same time.

Not Such a Mystery, Really

If you never get married, you never have an excuse to have all your people in one room. Because when are all your favorite people in one place at one time? Your wedding and your funeral. That's it. That's what you get. And at only one of those things can you guzzle champagne and do a conga line with your brother, your third grade teacher, and the friends who let you sleep on their couch after breakups.

I don't get to have that because I might never get married? I CALL BULLSHIT.

So I put Willy Wonka-Themed Self Wedding on my list for next year.

I've started a pinterest board. I opened a savings account account to pay for it. Attire will be Formal Ridiculous. People have started volunteering to help. Leah became my first bridesmaid when she said she'd never been one before and hinted heavily that I was her last shot. Nicole will bake an enormous rainbow layer cake. Drea will be my official photographer. (To be fair, she didn't volunteer so much as she was informed.) Holly will be my Chief Help-Make-This-Thing-Amazing consultant.

Plans didn't really go off the rails until I decided I wanted camels.

"Did Charlie and the Chocolate Factory even have camels?"

"Does it matter? IT'S MY SPECIAL DAY AND I'LL HAVE CAMELS IF I WANT THEM."

"...."

"Also, I want the camels to be sparkly. Where can you get glitter camels?"

Why This Plan Digs Into So Many of My Insecurities

What if no one comes because it's not a "real thing"? Do I go all out and treat it like a real wedding, and invite Midwestern relatives who would then have to decide if they're going to fly out to something that's not really a real wedding? Is this a real wedding or isn't it? What if I feel like an absolute fool? Do I have it in LA or in San Francisco? If I have it in San Francisco, will the LA people come? Vice versa? I've never hosted a big party like this before, what if I forget the food? (I won't forget the food. But I might forget pants.) Am I just committing to being alone forever?

I have some feelings about this.

But then I remember why I wanted to do it in the first place. I want to have all my favorite people around me for an afternoon. I want to watch the pieces of my world mix and I want us all to eat chocolate and dance and have fun and celebrate the fact that this is a world where a 33-year-old woman can decide to have a Willy Wonka wedding all by herself and hey, that kind of world is pretty damn awesome.

Especially when so many fun people are racing through a park trailing ribbons and sparklers, followed by camels on a sugar high.

Make a Life List, End Up Pantsless in Bolivia. That's How This Works, Right?

Wise people tend to say obnoxious things like, "There is nothing you need that you don't already have." When my lizard brain stops yammering long enough to allow my own wiser self through, I know this is true. Then my lizard brain calls my wiser self a pretentious twat, my wiser self calls my lizard brain a reptilian xenophobe, and the inside of my head turns into a philosophical bar brawl until I have to go sit in the corner and stare at a tree or something until they're done.

Magic Is Just Another Word For Paying Attention

My month o' magic experiment has been mostly about noticing. Uncovering what's already there. Prompting myself to hook into what's good right now - and think about how I can make more of that good, for myself and for others.

More Good For Me. Cause, Yeah. It's All About Me, Me, Me.

I've never done a life list. I believe in the power of words and I believe in the power of writing them down and I also believe that if I make such a list, I'll forget something crucial. Like...wearing pants. I'll merrily commit my life list to paper, forget to mention pants, and then I'll find myself exploring the salt flats of Bolivia and suddenly realize that I'm not wearing any pants and then the heavens will open up and a deep booming voice will say, "Hey, you got what you wanted. You. Salt flats. Bolivia. Awesome people. Paella. Now you want pants? YOU NEVER MENTIONED PANTS."

You say, don't be silly. I say, REAL FEAR.

Part of me is scared to commit what I want my life to be to paper. WHAT IF I FORGET SOMETHING AND THEN I NEVER GET TO HAVE IT?

Both my lizard brain and wise philosopher brain think I'm being stupid. Noted.

But as I think about what I want this next year to be, a few things keep circling back - things that feel right and compelling and a little scary in that "Hey, look, I think I might be growing" kind of way.

So I'll be writing about a few of them. Probably at great length, because why use four words when you can use four thousand? What they are, why I want them, how they'll smell, taste, and feel. Because writing things down and putting them on the budget and in the calendar means they're that much closer to reality.

Boom. Magic.