Staying hot.

Um, how 'bout you do it yourself, yo?

Relationships are ridiculous. My relationship is ridiculous. How else can I possibly describe something that involves being with a whole entire complete other person, another human being, who has an entire life of their own, who thinks thoughts that are their own, who has been and done things for a lifetime that have made them them? Relationships are crazy and hard and anyone who says otherwise is wrong wrong wrong (but not really - I just like being right).

I struggle with wanting to control other people. I struggle to admit that I am wrong. I am defensive and angry when I'm scared, and other people scare me all the freakin' time with their otherness. I struggle to be myself in the presence of other people, to truly be myself and not adjust myself to be more in-line with the other person. I am weak in that way. It worries me.

All of these things are compounded exponentially in an intimate romantic relationship, in a one-on-one, no-one-else-sees-this-but-us kind of relationship. And my flaws are microphoned out on a loudspeaker with the person that I love. I am ugly when I don't get my way. Ugly ugly ugly.

I am drinking a cup of coffee from a small coffee cup, and it gets cold very quickly. It is hot for a moment, and then it is cold. I have to refill it if I want it to be hot, or have one of those constant-candle-warmer kinds of things. I need a bigger mug. It needs to be thicker and deeper so the coffee stays hot. I need my soul to be thicker and deeper so I can stay hot and grounded and steady. Some people call this an ego. It's all the same thing. It's my innermost part, my deepest me. This is the thing I am working on, this thing I carry around in my broken human body. This is the thing that matters. I have to trust that God is in control and can do all of those impossible miraculous things I've seen over and again, and sit in stillness and wait. This waiting will make me better. It will make me still. It will keep me hot.

Curtis Jere :) :) :) :) :)

I'm sure there are at least a million gifs out there that could mimic the reaction I had internally when I found this in a bathroom during last weekend's estate sale. I'm sure you can imagine it.

There are two leaves that have fallen off (I bought it that way), and they are included with the listing. Initially, after purchasing it, I asked a friend to weld it for me, but this was before he'd actually looked at it, and I saw that the green wasn't a metal patina, but paint on the metal. I decided this morning to list it as-is, and allow the next owner to decide what to do. The welding options didn't sound safe enough to me. It was too risky to harm the piece irrevocably and I wasn't going to do an amateur epoxy job. I'm just not that kind of girl.

Speaking of which, have you ever noticed yourself more as you get older, realize how you are unique in the world? I'm noticing lately how much of a "big picture" person I am. I'm the person who finds things well, but I struggle more with the small details of my business. I'm not inept or anything - I can learn new things - I'm just recognizing that I naturally gravitate towards big ideas and less towards putting a plan into action. Little things scare me. They trip me up. They make me think I'll miss something huge and get trampled for it. I don't know if that makes any sense. I struggle with it most in romantic relationships, when I worry that I'm missing something huge (hugely bad).

But there was no way I could miss these owls. I was prepared. I knew what I was looking at. I'm awesome that way :)

Thrift Share - Estate Sales :)

Morgan Dennis poodle sketch on tile

Saturday morning, I went to an estate sale two hours north. I have found a company I really really like and have found that this is key to a good sale. Good professional people who know what they're doing make great choices. I love a good adventure, and have committed to being 'ok' with whatever happens. I'm not a crazy early-riser, so I like to give myself room to sleep as long as I need instead of waking up at 5am to be the first there. It's more important to me to take care of myself than it is to get the best stuff.

So Pretty eau de parfum from Cartier

There are a lot of different kinds of estate sales. Some estate dealers only want to sell to collectors, so everything is priced ridiculously high. I hate these sales. I think these people are fooling themselves (my not-so-humble opinion). Then there are others that go through everything and leave the remnants. These aren't even really "estate" sales. I can tell right away when I get there early and the house is empty. Then there are the super pros who have no interest in the love of thrift and recycling. They just want to sell stuff for as much as they can, have no interest in anything but money, and aren't typically very friendly or accommodating.

Couroc of Monterey 'Karate Cart' platter/plate

A good company is organized, knowledgeable, and helpful. This house I was in on Saturday was super-small and packed with stuff, so it was difficult to walk around and get to stuff. One of the employees helped me get a box so I could organize my stuff. It helped me so much. What a sweetheart. And when their iPad Square didn't work, they held my stuff for me while I went in search of cash, and remembered my name when I returned. Their prices were reasonable. The house was clean and well marked. They made it clear that they didn't accept deals on Saturday (pretty common, but I always ask).

It was a lovely morning. I found great stuff, and I was happy for the rest of the day. I got through a lot of the listings for the perfume I bought, and made a plan for the rest. I'm beginning to feel like I'm expanding. Maybe I'm just buying a lot of inventory ;)

Linking up with Nifty Thrifty and Sir Thrift a Lot :)

Isn't she lovely?

I have a broken heart. It's so so very broken. I think about my broken heart when I wake up in the middle of the night. I think about it when I wake up in the morning. I work hard all freakin' day long to keep from falling apart. I have a broken heart.

"People are better than no people." When I'm sad, I need to be alone a lot. I need to sit in a quiet room and not think, maybe cry, but mostly stare at the ceiling and be sad. At some point in the sadness, I begin to wonder if it will ever end, and if I'm isolating myself to the point of depression. Then I hang out with my people, and I feel a lot better, and I realize that things will not be awful forever.

Right now, I am trying to live my life as normal. I go to work. I go to yoga. I try to feed myself on a regular basis. I cry and get mad at dumb things and then say "I'm sorry". I have good moments. I have bad moments. I try not to cry at the pharmacy when they mess up my prescription for the hundredth time (even though I try to keep this from happening, and plan ahead, and check and double check, it stills happens - I have no control). I try to keep my life as stable as possible. I take a lot of walks at dusk. There have been times in my life when the walks at dusk were accompanied by swinging on swings at the park, but I don't have any swings near me now.

I don't know what is going to happen in my life, or with my heart. I'm learning to be a person who tries not to control everything. Not trying to control everything is probably why my heart is really truly broken. I'm proud of myself for letting that happen, for letting my heart be broken. That's progress.

An imperfect life.

I ridiculously love Degas, and have since I was a kid

I've been trying for a long time to have my perfect life, to be the perfect me, to get to the edge of my potential. Is it possible that I've been trying so hard to be awesome that I've neglected how awesome I already am, just as I am?

I've recently learned that I'm a pretty attractive person. Heretofore, I still held the beliefs bestowed upon me as a child: that I was annoying, dressed like a man, had terrible hair, and just generally looked horrible all the time. So naturally I assumed these things meant that I was ugly, and unlovable. Funny thing is, I'm not ugly, and I'm pretty damn lovable. All of that time spent believing the lies made me create a persona to cope with the ugliness. Everything I wear is an attempt to not look decrepit. I avoid certain hairstyles because they accentuate my utter awfulness. I exercise and eat healthy because it keeps me from looking horrifyingly ugly.

But now I know these things are a lie. Every. Single. One. So now what? How do I find out who I really am under all of the things I've put on to keep from showing the world the ugliness underneath? How do I become someone who is completely herself whilst still communicating health and well-being in my professional life? Where is the perfect middle and how do I get there?

And what happens if I stop striving for perfection altogether?

Marry me. Own me.

Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home—my only home.

― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

My big term paper in 12th grade AP English was about Jane Eyre, specifically the concept of love in Jane Eyre. I've been trying to create my home my entire life. I never had one place that I could call home. I had a smattering of locations, and all of them together just wasn't home. But I found a home inside myself that I carried with me everywhere. It was safe. I made forts with pillows and blankets and my pink depression glass lamps I've had my whole life; and I would read The Boxcar Children and Nancy Drew. I don't remember a lot of snacks, but my mother often bought graham crackers, so those I remember more than anything else. That was my "home".

I was told that my real home would someday be with a partner, a husband. He would give my life meaning. He would take all of the idiosyncrasies about me and somehow create meaning from them. He, this unknown person, was the only way I could become whole and complete. He was the only way  that someone would care about me the way I imagined was possible. He would care that I hate watermelon and love swings at the fair. He would listen to me when I wanted to talk, because it would be his job to listen and care. In sum, my future husband would love me the way no one else could.

Well I'm 31 years old, and I'm not married. I've never been married. I haven't met this amazing person who is going to save me, change my life so completely I'll finally be whole. So I've had to learn along the way that life is too hard to wait for this person to arrive. Life is too long to wait for someone that may never come.

Whatever the truth, I've learned that one person doesn't "complete" another person, and so to even strive for that is a futile occupation. Don't I deserve to be complete all on my own? Don't I deserve to be loved all on my own? And don't I deserve to be fully known without a spouse? Yes, yes, and a resounding yes.

So I find my home all within myself, and I carry it with me wherever I go.

Making good choices.

I believe that I am the master of my own destiny, that I in fact can determine the course of my life merely by making decisions that point me in the perfect direction. This is flawed logic. See, I can't predict what will end well with 100% certainty. I can guess. I can use past experience. But I can't emphatically know what will make my life as awesome as possible.

Seriously, I don't even know why I keep trying. All it takes is one bad decision to royally fuck it all up anyway, as the protesters at Planned Parenthood remind me every morning on my way to work. Life is not a series of equally significant moments. Life is a series of benign, uninteresting moments, interspersed with crazy important ones that change the entire trajectory of one's life. Yet I continue to believe that I can be more powerful than I am, that I can predict the future, and thus completely avoid pain. And it is these times, when I have set everything up in such a way that absolutely nothing can go wrong, that everything goes wrong, and I am painfully reminded of how small and helpless I am in the face of an infinite universe and unpredictable people.

So I eat more chocolate chip cookies, because I predict that they will be good, and then they are, in fact, very good. Nothing else matters. I have control over nothing else.

You don't understand.

Taylor & Ng has an entire collection of animal orgy mugs - classic

There is something that happens when a woman becomes the only single person she knows. And the secret is that she knows plenty of other single people - they just don't count. I have been through season after season of seeing all of my friends get married, and having to make new friends. Now it's been about a decade, and a new normal has set in, a realization that this is my life. There's a good reason that the men I date are still single in their thirties. There's a good reason I'm single, I suppose. Girl can't take a hint.

After a while, after a breakup, I make a decision to just stop already. It's the smart thing to do. But then I go and do it again: open myself up, let my heart stretch and hurt and soften in ways it never has, and then I get to today, the morning after, and remember why my life is the way it is, even if it hurts sometimes and is lonely in a way that other people cannot possibly understand.

I wonder why God chooses some people to have lives of stability and love and family. I wonder why God hasn't chosen me for those things, why I'm different. I'm pretty tired of fighting it. Fighting God is futile. And the hope of beauty is only crushed when reality steps in and shows its ugly face.

No rest.

It's really important to me to live at peace with other people, and that might make me what some people call a pacifist. Of course, I hate labels. The frugal part of me appreciates substance over all else. Anyhow, living at peace with other people is difficult, because peace isn't about the absence of conflict. Peace is about what's on the other side of that conflict.

When I have a relationship that isn't quite right, I suffer: I lose sleep; I have trouble eating. I just generally feel like ass. And what I wish I could do is just throw the whole thing away. It's not worth all the pain incurred. Being alone is preferable. Except it's not. It's not preferable to be alone. It's not good to be alone. People need to be with other people. We're pack animals.

But people are flawed. I am flawed. So when I get together with another person, we will have a flawed relationship. And that's where I get stuck, romantically speaking. I can have flawed friendships - sure. But flawed romance? That feels wrong and sinful, like God has some perfect person for me, and I'm going to miss out on that person by being in the flawed relationship I'm in.

Meandering thoughts late at night.

Cheers.

megan + burritos = 4EVER

I may have created a new holiday tradition wherein I eat as many burritos as I want. This lasted about two weeks, and it was wonderful. Last night, it ended tragically. I don't know what to blame: bad avocado, undercooked potatoes, not enough hot sauce, or an over-toasted tortilla. It was all wrong, and I'm left me with an empty feeling in my heart.

As a diabetic, food is not always enjoyable. I can regularly be found stuffing my face with handfuls of raisins at 11pm in a dark kitchen, scrounging for old sugar packets mid-afternoon at work, or just miserably eating anything at anytime. Sometimes I eat because I have to, and I hate it. Actually, I am usually eating because I have to. Food is sustenance, energy. Food is the thing that keeps my blood sugar steady in a way that nothing else can. When something is forced upon me, I usually hate it, even if I previously loved it. If you tell me I must do something, I will cease to love it. I really don't like to be told what to do.

Burritos are enjoyable. Burritos I can do. I also love sandwiches, just less. And if I love something that I can also eat (which will not be a bad choice for me food-wise), the heavens open up for a glorious moment and let me enjoy food. It's a precious thing, and I savor every bit of it.

Except for last night. Damn you bad burrito.

I'm afraid of new things.

I'm pretty much on vacation right now, focusing on my store, resting, considering the possibility of reading a book instead of watching old Law & Order episodes on repeat, and just generally attempting to re-center, ground myself for the pending new year.

I have this new thing in my life, this new person, and as I move through the unknown of this relationship, I am faced daily by all of the things I try to avoid most of the time. I'm recognizing how much I avoid risk, perhaps not risk in the standard sense (I'm not risking my life or anything), but risk in terms of my own heart and soul. See my thrifty heart is a frugal heart. I calculate and recalculate. I weigh pros and cons. I anticipate potential problems so when they come, I'm not surprised. I know when to throw in the towel and call it quits. Thrifting is the way I control my life. Thrifting is the way I make sense of my own soul.

But nothing new and wonderful can come out of something known and understood, at least not intentionally. I've made a lot of choices in my life for the wrong reasons, and they ended up being for my benefit in the end, but I couldn't have orchestrated that; I couldn't have known the future.

So yes, I dig for treasures, but I don't know what I'll find. I don't go looking for particular things; I find wonderful things because I open myself up for them. I spend time preparing, and at the right time, I know what I'm looking at.

People are like that, in some ways. We become people who know what they're looking for, so when we see it, we'll know. I guess I'm wondering if I know what I'm looking for, after all this time, if my years upon years of singleness have taught me anything, or if I'm still just my naive sixteen-year-old self in a grown up woman's body.

Only time will tell, because only time can do the hard work of growing up. Being a grown-up is hard.

Avoid extremism!

Holy freakin' shit! Didn't know what I bought - listed for $250 on eBay.

When I meet new people who also love thrift, I often get asked the question, "What's the best store in town?" And, unfortunately, I can never offer a succinct response. "Well...it depends," I say, knowing that everyone thrifts for different reasons, and I can't possibly predict what's perfect for you. That being said, I'm beginning to recognize in myself a distaste for labels. What does best even mean? It certainly means something different to you than it does to me. I find that I make more friends when I allow every person I meet to have their own favorites, their own tastes.

Um, solid brass Eiffel Tower? So cool!

I'm an extremist by nature. I have to catch myself, watch my behavior, make sure I don't start living on green smoothies and doing yoga constantly. Because that's the goal, right? We're all supposed to be walking towards more perfect versions of ourselves? Meh, I don't agree. In fact, I disagree quite strongly.

I think we're all okay just the way we are, that of course over time, we will all grow and change, but that doesn't mean that we are worthless or not good enough as we already are.

Egyptian-ish choker collar necklace

So yeah, it usually takes me until after 3 o'clock to eat lunch, even though I'm hungry before that. I am oftentimes too stressed about something small to get a good night's sleep. I cried at a party yesterday for no reason and constantly say inappropriate things in polite company.

There are a hundred other things that make me imperfect, and one by one I work on them over time. I've been doing this my whole life, working on becoming the person that I want to be. I don't expect that person to look anything like anyone else or to save the world or be everything to one other person. I recognize that I am human, and flawed, and imperfect, and I'm quite okay with that. I'm okay with eating dinner with my small group when there is milk and bacon in the soup (omg. Best clam chowder of all time), not because I'm all awesome and hospitable, but because damn, even I have to let go of my rules sometimes. Of course, this is probably scarier than the other option, to create rules for everything so I can always feel safe. But it's that kind of safety that gets terrifically overrated, that people strive for so that nothing ever changes, so they feel no pain. But change is constant, and pain is a reality, and we're all in this together. Blah, blah, blah. Speech over.

I needed to give myself a pep talk, so I wrote it down - cheers y'all :)

Big work day :)

Large Vintage Boat Painting on Wood - One of Two

Occasionally, I don't get a lot done. Overall, I am incredibly productive, but this also includes time that is not always filled with activity. Today has already been an incredibly productive day, and it's not even two o'clock yet. I got through a ton of merchandise that has been waiting to be photographed and listed. I feel like a bad ass.

Vintage Hermes on the Lyre Needlepoint

My friend Van over at Thrift Core always talks about branding and doing what nobody else does. Every time she says something about this, I think about what I do differently from other eBay sellers. I have yet to figure it out. I want to be unique, but I also make money from selling things that aren't so unique, like Anthropologie and Lululemon clothing.

Maybe it's because I make so much of my purchases at thrift stores. My store reflects thrift culture in that it is a cheap(er) way to be unique, stand out, but also to wear designer clothing if you don't want to be different. I sell 7 For All Mankind jeans because I know there are teenage girls out there who want to be like everyone else.

Vintage Kitchen Decor - Kitschy Art

More than ever before, I want to make money at what I do, not gold shoes money, just gas and groceries money. I think I've finally come to a place where I think I can make more money doing what I absolutely love. Maybe I haven't figured out how to describe it per se, but I'm figuring out how to do it better every day.

Close friends of mine still don't really know what I do, and that's okay. I haven't talked a lot about it until recently. I think I was embarrassed to be someone with an eBay store. Even when I tried to be vulnerable, I felt like people shut me down with negative statements. I have had to learn to be okay with what I do and who I am regardless of what anyone else says. If I take this position, and actually talk about my life with people I'm close to, I have more positive interactions than negative interactions. I've learned who in my life likes to hear about my shop, and who doesn't really care. Now I have friends in real life who get excited with me when I have a big month.

So all y'all online friends, thank you for all of your support. Sometimes I need your kudos more than you know :)

Give to Syria Relief.

The Syrian war makes me feel so helpless, so small and insignificant. It reminds me of my own family, refugees who survived. I am reminded of how war changes people forever.

Today, there are over one million child refugees from Syria. They are living in Jordan and on the border of Syria itself, in refugee camps with hundreds of thousands of other people, displaced by a war that appears to have no end.

My goal is to raise $10,000 for Mennonite Central Committee, one of the only organizations providing direct aid to Syrian refugees. You can verify their business and accountability information here.

You can give as much as you are able directly through MCC's website here. Their minimum donation amount is $5.

Facebook lamenting...

Set from Jahreszeiten, design by Susanne Dolker

I have friends on Facebook who lament. I try to lament as little as possible, because the responses are just underwhelming. No one has anything really meaningful to say, because Facebook isn't an inherently meaningful thing. Real person-to-person interaction is best for coping, in my opinion. Even Skyping doesn't do it for me. There is still distance in the conversation.

So when people lament, I try to be as encouraging and empathetic as possible. People lament in public because they want to be heard. They want to be seen. They don't need to hear how "It will all be better someday" or "Silly you. Be positive! Nothing is as bad as you think it is." Those kinds of responses are meant to send encouragement, but I find that they make the lamenter even more angry, because the deep unspoken fear is realized on screen - no one understands.

This is a reminder to myself to be supportive to those who are looking for support, to avoid rubbing people's faces in their own pain.

See you later :)

Vacation is no party.

1980 - Small Vintage Portrait on Particle Board

A few days off have put me into thinking mode, one of my all-time favorite modes, as it were, and I'm sifting through my brain, trying to decide where to go and what to do next in my life. I wish I knew, truly. Today, I'm thinking about opening a thrift store. As yesterday's thinking revealed, dreams are sometimes only images flashing across our brains, without any structure to hold them together.

I wish I could step confidently into the dreams I've had for so long. But what I've found in my life, over and again, is that dreams are never what you think they will be. You fall in love, only to discover the hollowness of the other person. You buy an old car, only to realize that you aren't the hobby mechanic you'd hoped to become. You take a job you'd only just imagined in college could exist, only to find it radically conflicts with who you are as a person.

So I've become a little scared to dream, hesitant to take another step forward only to see a nubile dream die with a thud. I'm scared to discover that being human is really as difficult as it seems to be, full of failings and hardship, slim glimpses of true beauty, followed by slippery hope in something more, something big enough to hold, something more substantial.

I think I've stopped trying to find someone to fall in love with because I've realized it's impossible to manipulate, that some things cannot be made to happen, that some things really are out of our control.

Peace, friends :)

Celebrate good times, come on!

Vintage Tiki Hula Girl Boob Mug from Harvey's

I've spent the morning researching PhD programs outside of California. Those non-resident fees are astronomical! Don't bother getting a PhD without getting a research or teaching assistant position, which will likely give you automatic resident status and give you a stipend or scholarship in return.

I don't want to be a "doctor" per se, but I continue to run into the reality that I think in a research/clinical way, and my work does not particularly allow me to pursue these things actively. I love to research and write. I don't necessarily want to do tests on people, or rats, or monkeys. I just want to write about the thoughts in my head. I think that's a reasonable goal for a doctoral program - Dear Dean of Admissions, I'm brilliant and I need to share it with the world. Please accept me. You won't regret it. You'll be happy you did.

I tried to do this as a seventeen-year-old applying to the honors program at my university. It didn't work out so well. It made sense to me, but I guess they diagnosed me with narcissism, and threw the essay away. I'm struggling a lot with self-doubt right now, and will be spending the next two weeks trying to work through that. I don't think I want to go back to school. I think I just want to go to Montana, and meet some lumberjack with a thick beard who will appreciate my intellect, and write poems about trees.

Actually, I'm less interested in men than I ever have been. It's pretty wonderful. I highly recommend it. I think I've dealt with some issues surrounding my feelings of inadequacy about being single. Or maybe I'm just pretending. Who knows?

Anyhoo, good to have you. Please come again :)

A troll! From Norway!

Vintage Nyform Troll from Norway - without hair ;)

I have found throughout my adult life, that in large groups, when I speak out about something, I leave feeling unacknowledged, or unheard by the larger group, only to have several people approach me afterward and say in a whisper, "I feel the same way you do".

I recognize that part of this process is my feelings of inadequacy. Perhaps I say brilliant things that make people think. Perhaps I contribute in great ways, and people want to acknowledge that, but don't feel like they can contribute in the larger conversation. Or maybe I'm an idiot, and people are placating me. I dunno.

I'm really struggling with this right now, these feelings of inadequacy. I was told for so long that I wasn't enough, that my hair was wrong, my clothes were wrong, my face was wrong, etc. So when I get up and go to work every day, I'm stuck figuring out how to integrate my adult self with this little kid who can't move a muscle without being reprimanded.

I'm working on it - don't worry about me :)

Thrift Share :)

Anyone ever heard of Molyneux? Twas new to me :)

The only thing that has inspired me to write in the past two weeks is Serena's Thrift Share. I have been working really hard to pay all my bills so I can go to Canada in July. Frankly, I'm exhausted. But not so exhausted that I can't do my thing and thrift like a mofo.

All of these Vogue patterns are size 16, bust 38", and uncut! So awesome.

Modelesque in every way. Look at those cheekbones!

 
I have been having so much trouble buying pants lately, not because they don't exist, but because I am particular and I want to be thrifty about it. These things make it really difficult. I think I might spend some time this summer making some long linen pants and maxi skirts. Unfortunately, due to the exhaustion, I'm finding it difficult to do much more than feed myself, and go to work. Yes, I understand why celebrities get hospitalized for exhaustion. You're tired and you need an excuse to just lie in one place and do nothing.

I just thought I might keep this one - wow :)

Maybe someone will make me long linen pants and maxi skirts? A girl can hope.

Linking up with Apron Thrift Girl :)

The Bachelorette returns...

Vintage NKOTB pillowcase :)

Due to my lack of a television (not because I'm some uber-hipster, but because I'd have nowhere to put it), I don't have cable. This means that I'm one day behind the blogosphere in terms of commenting on The Bachelorette. I know. I know. I've failed my strange niche of reality television/theology/recycling-loving crowd, all two of you. My apologies.

The first episode of this new season was the first time I was able to really start seeing pathology right off the bat, to trust my gut, to allow myself to say "something's not right with that guy". Of course, this is all hyperbole, since I'm not on the freakin' show, but nevertheless, I'm learning to trust myself. Creepy comes in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes, it can be really attractive on the outside, but it shouldn't take long to reveal itself. It's shallow and self-centered, needlessly self-deprecating and hyper-focused on flaws. Creepy people make you feel "icky".

My love of pop occasionally feels shameful ;)

I felt "icky" several times this evening, as I ate my favorite homemade vegan mac-n-cheese. Shirtless dude took too long to find a shirt. Dancing dude had zero ability to laugh at himself, and stared a little bit too intently - ack! But then...Bikram guy had the potential to be too intense, but was successfully able to be chill in stressful situations. And this guy looked like he was holding back tears as the final roses were being handed out and he was roseless - perhaps overly emotive, but able to be real in a strangely stressful situation.

The whole thing is a cluster-fuck of emotional absurdity, yes. But it's also an opportunity to do some self-reflection. While watching the Bachelorette meet her men, I'm wondering if I would be pretty enough for a group of men, or if they'd think I was weird and crazy, and if I'll ever be running through an orchard, holding hands with the person I love, who simultaneously loves me, and wondering at the beauty of sheer existence.

So many things to think about. What a great summer show - I'll keep you posted ;)