Cousins love casseroles!

I made Rocksgiving dinner for my cousins. It awoke in me a certain domestic ability that I assumed I lack. At one point, the cousin above told me I "sure can make a casserole" and the pride that rose through me nearly lifted me out of my plastic seat. It's a struggle to take in such a massive compliment, to adjust my self concept and make room for casserole-making on the list of things that are awesome about me. Casserole-making ability doesn't make me better than anyone else, right, but it means that given a set of ingredients, some solid, some liquid, a pan and some heat, I can make the midwest come alive in your mouth.

Enough about me! This blog isn't just a public diary about me and my fantastic skills--it is also a forum for celebrating cousins. I consider my sister a cousin as well, for she is my cousins' cousin, no? In this way we are all, as humans, cousins. This profound realization could change the course of human history, because in addition to being the best people on the face of the earth, my cousins are Republicans. Listen, Hezbollah and the Israeli state: sure, cousins might get in an argument on State St. about panhandling and homelessness, and then not really speak to each other for awhile, but in the end, cousins can eat out of the same giant pan of green bean casserole and enjoy doing so, and in this way, love each other.

So, dear readers, in these times of trouble and plenty, I could sit around thinking about all the awfulness inherent in a meal of turkey loaf and three cheese macaroni, Thanksgiving as a concept, my family as a reality. I really could, and have, sometimes with beer and/or cat. It's better, though, to wonder at the majesty of cousins and culture and Cloud Gate, a magical metal bean that makes humans happy. I offer thanks and all praise due to Mayor Daley and, of course, God.

We saw an angel.

Upon the turning of the thirty

Have you ever really listened to "Total Eclipse of the Heart"? Jaysus. It's heartbreaking. I downloaded it from Itunes as part of my 30th Playlist, but Chuck the DJ refused to play it. At one point I screamed at him to stop playing jams, Please, Chuck, I may lose the use of my limbs, and he said No. I took this to mean that Chuck loved me, but he did not. It occurs to me now that Chuck may have actually wanted me to die of dancing. Whatever. Now I get to listen to 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' while alone, at home, hearing my downstairs neighbor play the rock, Downstairs Neighbor of the Ambiguous Flirtation, and literally: could life be more sparkly and complex?
I forgot to mention some of the additional information, and I invite you to rank the relavance as you see fit: I had the best therapy session ever with one of my more precious clients, and then she ran away from home. I looked at 100s of pictures of myself from my birthday and it turns out that the flash made my H & M shirt see-thru. These same pictures force me to navigate the nebulous space between 'heifer with facial Down's Syndrome' and 'my God I am a pretty pretty princess.' My therapy and general recovery from Bad Childhood means that I am like a 4 year old in terms of genuine self appraisal, but also I am 30, and there are men all over this city and I don't know what I am supposed to do. I hear about child abuse all day, and sexual terror, and pain, and everyday is a diamond in its brilliance, fascination, and rock solid ability to cut me up. I have been given hope, and magic, and it's terrifying. I lived to 30, motherfuckers. I want to eat life like the amazing tofu lasagna my roommate gifted me. I want to attack my neighbor and approximate the adolescence I wanted. If I could download songs, which I can't, I would download Of Montreal's "Everyday Feels Like Sunday." And then I would make you cry, because that's life, my precious babies.
Let me tell you a bit about the great session I had with My Girl. At one point she looked me dead in the eye and said, "Even though there are all these people around me that love me, they say they love me, I just can't feel it. I feel alone even when there are all these people around. Maybe I'm not saying it right. Do you know what I mean?" And my heart broke, yet again. What if we could breathe love? I would have blown her away.
Here's what I suspect, with excitement and trepidation: I will be okay in my 30s. There is a spark of the pain and loveliness of life in me and it will grow until I die.

I am waiting in a psychiatric hospital while one of my clients gets a neuropsychological assessment. It took three hours to pick him up on the South Side and then drive here, but what is the payoff of a suburban hospital? Carpet murals with a space theme that would make my Grandpa weep. A decent cafeteria. And a fully stocked child and adolescent mental health library with free internet access. I accidentally on purpose left my paperwork at the office and instead brought my journal and Chrisitan literature to pass the time. Whoops! After that last magical posting I decided to check out the other blogs updated today at noonish. I thought it would be more of a grab-bag, really, but good for bloggers: these titles are wicked descriptive. For instance, I thought Vagarities in Weather would be the poetry of a tortured meteorologist, but it's a discussion of weather on the Indian Subcontinent. Lifesux is a blog with a pink background and terrible spelling, mostly concerned with how much the author hates her grade and her life, which is filled with bad luck. How About Them Cowboys--I completely expected the blog of a closted gay man who really appreciates life on the range, only to find pictures of the Cowboys football team.

Having learned my lesson, I am avoiding the blogs with titles like Anal Sex and Cum Hole. I suspect they may be pornographic in nature. Although it occurs to me that Badminton Cheese could be re-named Cooter Patrol for the duration and really reach out to another demographic.

A further note: I have gone back and attempted to find these blogs in order to link them and therefor stay eternally connected to my fellow bloggerators, and they are unlocatable in Blogger Search. I will miss them.