Where I'm From

I'm from a cul-de-sac in a beautiful city.

I'm from Germany. I'm from Italy. I'm from New York.

I'm from climbing trees and scraped knees.

I'm from fire trucks and adventures soiled with soot.

I'm from cigarette smoke and beer foam.

I'm from manners and utmost respect.

I'm from grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles in a big house with big voices.

I'm from training wheels and two-wheelers, broken teeth on the pavement.

I'm from giggles and make-believe and walking to school.

I'm from sarcasm and joking and hurt feelings.

I'm from the smell of garlic and the accents of emigrants.

I'm from two war veterans. Two countries. One war.

I'm from the love of two parents, each broken and carrying their own scars.

I'm from calloused hands that worked two jobs but never let me forget it.

I'm from shouting and shattering and lying and leaving.

I'm from trying to sleep through it all.

I'm from a broken home.

I'm from growing up and moving on.

I'm from poor choices and endless regrets.

I'm from a man, and a law, and a cross.

I'm from purity and sinlessness and willingness and offering.

I'm from bloodshed, curtain torn, rock rolled away.

I'm from redemption and wholeness and beauty for ashes.

I'm from a heritage of holiness.

I'm from wearing white.

I'm from my father's house.

What's In A Name?

I got a 4.0 in my senior sem. 400 level Shakespeare class. That's not to say I'm either brilliant or special...I just really like Shakespeare, and it stinks for me and anyone else who does, because you can't make any money by enjoying or knowing a lot about his work. So that is a useless drawer of knowledge that I have.

Anyway, there is a line in the play, Romeo and Juliet where Juliet is standing on her balcony talking to herself, not knowing that Romeo is outside just underneath her window listening to her (shady if you ask me...those days it was romantic, these days we'd realize he was a stalker, update a facebook status about it so everyone knows, and call it a deal-breaker, but whatev). So that's when she spits out that famous line, "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?". And everyone thinks that means she's looking for him, that she's asking where he is. But the word "wherefore" actually means why. She's lamenting and wondering out loud to herself why he's got to be called "Romeo", see because he's a Montague and she's a Capulet and they're all kinds of forbidden to be together because the their two households have an ancient grudge and all that. So she thinks he would be absolutely perfect for her if it just weren't for his damn name. And she's asks,

"What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other word would smell as sweet.

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title"

Which basically means, "What does a name mean? The thing we call a rose would smell just as sweet if we called it by any other name. Romeo would be just as perfect even if he wasn’t called Romeo." or something to that effect.

So why am I putting you through this Shakespeare lesson and what does it have to do with anything? Well, thank you for asking. I have an answer for that.

Joe and I are in the throes of trying to choose a possible name for our next child. We don't know whether we'll be getting a girl or a boy, so we have to have names for both. What we do know is that the child will mostly likely be much darker-skinned than we are. That is something that we're excited about and are prepared to spend the rest of our lives teaching all of our children that the things that make us different, make us beautiful.

Anyway, the name issue. And let me tell you, it's an issue. We aren't really super into the meanings of names. Well, a meaningful name is always lovely but we both want our kids' names to sound nice and be normal and just be something that we like. We went with pretty simple names for our first two, but they're names that we love. We want the same for the next one but we have to be careful. You can't name an African American child some lame-o, whitey, sweater vest name, that's just mean. But it has to be a name that of course we would name one of our children. And that is really, really hard to do. It has to be a good mix and compromise and I'm just not feeling sure of any of the names we've come up with so far. I personally think that girls' names are especially difficult. Is this a problem that I have? Is this normal? I understand that it's a unique situation but is it as big of a deal as I think it is. Oh, what's in a name? Maybe we'll just name him Montague. Montague Cassara. Great. Done deal. Love it. Bye.

Anybody have any suggestions??? I'll keep an open mind. But until we decide, I'll just take Juliet's advice and rest assured that our sweet baby will, in fact be just as sweet and just as loved and just as cherished by Jesus as it would be if we called it by any other name.

To each his own.

Let's face it. I'm never bringing sexy back.

I said that to my sweet friend Shana the other day, to which she sweetly responded "Sam, really? That was gone a long time ago." Ok, maybe she didn't exactly use those words but that's what I heard. And she was so right.

I really never thought I would feel this old at the tiny age of 27. But seriously, I've been married for 4 1/2 years, I have two kids, a mortgage, stretch marks, and a MINIVAN! Heaven help me. And that's why I felt like I needed to admit out loud that I wouldn't be bringing sexy back any time soon...well, ever really. I suppose it was good while it lasted anyway. At least it hooked me the man I love....well, that and my hilarious wit, for sure, so it served its purpose :)

So I've been a little hesitant to enter the official soccer mom stage but with our serious possibility of having 3 children under the age of 2, it was quite inevitable. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely vehicle, it just comes with such a stigma. It's like the punctuation at the end of the sentence of my youth. A big, black, Toyota PERIOD. New paragraph. Can you blame me? It's just a hard realization to come to, that's all.

But what I do love about it is that it means I have the life I've always wanted.

When I was going out of work for my maternity leave, I felt mostly excited and determined like I had a more important job to do at the time (which was to sit still, eat a lot, and be a full-time incubator) but I also felt a little embarrassed when people would ask me if I was coming back. I think a lot of times people tend to give a lot of respect to women who have great careers, whether they do well financially or they're just really passionate about the work that they do. And especially if those working women are also mothers, we tend to think of them like they can do anything, superwomen, spinning plates in one hand while working a business deal in an Anne Klein suit and cutting up chicken nuggets with the other. I am SO not that woman. I am not any kind of a multi-tasker. I feel overwhelmed when I'm reading a book and the phone rings. (So why do we have 15 month old twins and a baby on the way?? you might ask. GREAT question! I'm leaving that one up to God...it was His idea anyway.)

But as I'm nearing 30, I think it comes with a greater sense of self awareness. Just as some women my age are reveling in their success in a paid job (or working very hard toward it), I feel like I'm reveling in my success in my own life. Not that my husband and children were a conquest, and not that I'm a perfect parent and my kids reflect my perfection...by any means! All I'm saying is that I knew from a very young age that this is the life I wanted, and now I have it. I always knew I wanted to be a teacher also, and I feel so blessed that I got to do that and I do very much hope to be able to do it again.

So to each, his own. Right? I personally don't believe that me going to work is best for myself or my family. Being a mom is my vocation and I'm deeply passionate about it. I find a snuggle and a kiss from my babies SO much more rewarding than a paycheck. But if your goal is to work and to never have a husband or children and you find your job rewarding and you are deeply passionate about what you do, then I respect that very much. Or if you can have kids and give them your all and have a job and do that well, then rock on. And shoot, if you can look sexy doing it, then I will holler atcha. I think it's ok for people to have vastly different lives and opinions and still respect one another. Maybe that makes me naive but I'd rather err on that side than on the side of hypocrisy or judgement any day.

So, thank you Joe for stealing my days of singling and mingling.

Thank you Brett and Ella for stealing my waistline and the elasticity of my skin.

Thank you big, black swagger wagon for stealing my dream of driving a Smart Car and looking like one of Charlie's Angels.

And thank you Lord for stealing away my thoughts that my way is the best way and showing me that it's just the way you've given me, and that it's right for me.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have arrived.

A.R.G.

When I was in the third grade, my family moved from the city to the burbs. I hated it. Mostly I was just young and hated being the new kid in the class and I didn't know how to write in cursive and I had no friends. I cried a lot and questioned the authorities who said that kids have to get on a bus and go to school every day. I was ready to go on a learning strike.

When I was in the fifth grade, Adrienne was the new girl in our class, coming in part way through the year, and I felt for her because I knew what it was like and what she was going through. The following year we were in the same class and I was in the height of my "I'll do anything to get attention" stage. She really wanted to be my friend. She liked country music and so did I and we were both really embarrassed about it and didn't want anyone else to find out about our music preferences (this actually went on for years...remember how I bought the Space Jam soundtrack??), so we bonded over that. She invited me to sleep over at her house (actually she and her mom lived in an apartment and it took my overprotective dad a long time to let me stay in an apartment over night because he said that that was the place where all the criminals went when they got out of jail and they were just waiting to prey on young girls...small snapshot of my life, here). The first time I slept over, we watched Over The Top and ate popcorn and giggled like girls in 6th grade do. Before we went to bed, she said she wanted me to hear her favorite song, which was "Please Don't Take the Girl" by Tim McGraw (great jam). The song was so great and so twangy and I loved that I could love that song and not feel embarrassed about it with her. We put in on loop (which was amazingly, newly possible with the invention of the compact disc) and fell asleep. It was still playing in the morning when we woke up and we didn't care at all because the jam was just that good.

About a week later she was at my house to sleep over and we were laying on the living room floor. We thought it would be fun to write notes back and forth so we could share secrets, which seemed easier than speaking them out loud...or maybe just more girly, who knows. We wrote who our crushes were, who we thought were the funniest people in our class, and who we wanted to be like when we grew up. After a while she passed me a note that said "will you be my friend?" and I wrote back, "I am your friend, dork." And she wrote, "but I mean BEST friend". And I seriously had to think about it. It seemed like a really big commitment in my 11-year-old mind but I didn't think I had a different best friend so the job was open. So I wrote "sure, I'll be your best friend" and passed it over to her. She smiled and kicked her legs around in the air with a squeely sort of sound and said "great, I've never had a best friend before"...the first spoken words of our conversation that night.

For the next few years we were inseparable. She both had other friends but we mostly preferred each other. We had sleepovers constantly, shopped for and wore the same outfits as often as possible, played with her hermit crabs (and occasionally lost them in her room), listened to country music, watched every Sylvester Stallone movie we were allowed to, celebrated each other's birthdays, went trick-or-treating (with the matching costumes), and shared all of our secrets as usual. Then were also times we'd cry together because she missed her dad, or mine had yelled at me that day. One of the hermit crabs died and we buried him in her back yard, digging a hole with a kitchen spoon and crying through our eulogies. I met her mother's boyfriend, and she met my grandparents. She loved Eeyore and I sat through endless episodes of Winnie the Pooh with her. Adrienne was my favorite person on the planet for a beautiful season in time.

But puberty and middle school are serious forces when you're a tween. We were pulled to different crowds when we got to the middle school and were thrown in with new boys and new friends and new interests. We never had an argument or falling out, just sort of drifted apart. Every once in a while we'd spend some time together and I missed her terribly but knew it would never go back to the way it was with us. We were just growing up.

During high school, we'd sometimes have a class or study hall together and we'd chat and laugh and at the beginning of senior year, I could see she was in love. She was dating a guy that she adored and he seemed to be really good to her. I was happy that she was happy but we both just had our own lives going on. I have to admit though, that I was always a little jealous of her other friends, always sort of missing that fun, giggly, girly, best-friendship we had once upon a time.

Then one rainy day in October we had a half day of school and after it let out I went straight to my boyfriend's house. I remember just sitting on the couch and being lazy and capitalizing on the fact that my parents didn't know it was a half day and wouldn't be expecting me home for a while. At some point, the news came on and the reporter said that two Webster High School students had just died in a car accident. Our attention was turned to the story and as we stared at the TV, at Adrienne's and her boyfriend, Leo's pictures, I remember being in complete and utter disbelief. They had hydroplaned in the rain, the reporter said, and the car collided into a telephone pole in the front yard of a church on Hard Rd.

What?

It just did not seem possible. That was ten years ago today.

The next day at school was eerily quiet as the senior class mindlessly walked through the halls and nobody felt that they even had the right to speak. Grief counselors were on duty. I remember feeling guilty about feeling so sad. I barely even knew her, I told myself. She had so many wonderful friends who were a thousand times closer with her than I was at that time. She was just my childhood friend, it was no big deal.

We all dealt with their deaths in our own way. The next evening there were hundreds of people gathered around that telephone pole with letters and balloons and tears in their eyes. It was so surreal. I used to be a bit of a sentimental pack rat and so even by senior year I still had every note that Adrienne and I had ever written each other. I gathered every note and every picture of us, clipped her obituary, and put it all together in a shoe box, trying desperately to preserve a memory that was so dear to me.

A few days later I stood in line outside of a funeral home for hours just to get inside and pay my respects. "Please Don't Take the Girl" was playing on a loop as I looked at her beautiful face, laying inside a casket, wearing an orange turtle neck sweater, while her mommy was losing her mind two feet away.

Not one time in ten years have I driven down Hard Rd. without thinking about her. Not one time have I heard Tim McGraw (who, I am no longer embarrassed to say, is one of my most favorite singers of all time) sing any song without thinking about her. Not one time have I seen Sylvester Stallone, or a hermit crab, or the number 3, or two 10 year old giggling girls, or a pair of black converse sneakers, or passed an apartment building without thinking of her. It's not about me at all, but a beautiful piece of my childhood was in that casket that day. And ten years later...I've graduated high school, graduated college, had a deeply satisfying career, I've fallen in love, gotten married, endured tragedies, had babies, fallen in love all over again, and will probably attend my ten year high school reunion next year, and that's just not frickin fair because she never got to do any of it.

Yes, I know life is not fair. I choose to rest in the fact that my God is sovereign. But it's just difficult sometimes because although I trust Him and I truly do love trusting Him...He can be unpredictable and indiscernible. He chooses things that I would not choose. He chooses to take and end lives. A very good friend once told me at a very difficult time in my life that "God is in the habit of laying down innocent lives for a greater glory. He always has been." That was about 3 years ago and I'm still rolling that one around in my head.

All that is to say that today I'm thinking about Adrienne and all the things I'm happy she brought to my life and to so many others. She was truly a beautiful person and beauty, in fact, never dies.

Queen Latifah knows everything

Yesterday may have been the longest day of my life. I was a bundle of nervous energy knowing that our social worker was coming for a home visit last night, I was a cleaning maniac all day, Ella flung a poop patty across the living room (that's a story for another time), neither of the twins took good naps, then I stayed up past midnight which hasn't happened in eons and then miss Ella was awake and crying from 1am until 4 am, which has happened since she was 8 weeks old. What the heck! Now I'm sitting with a large cup of coffee as a band aid to my sleepless night.

I think the home visit went well. Our social worker is great, we just love her. It really wasn't as big of a deal as a lot of people make it out to be though. We just gave her a tour of our house, filled out our last bit of paper work, wrote her a mondo check, and that's it! It has yet to be in writing but we got a verbal approval from her so hopefully sometime in the next year Joe and I will be proud adoptive parents!!

Yikes! It's a little scary to think about adding baby #3 to our clan...I know it'll be quite chaotic at times but I've always wanted our kids to be close together and the adoptive road comes void of assurances and dates. It's a bit like being pregnant with absolutely NO due date. Could be a month, could be a year, maybe more. That's it. But that's what we're signing up for and I wouldn't have it any other way. We've got a baby on the way and it's possible that it's in someone else's belly right now or more likely, not even conceived yet! So I don't get to plan exactly how close or far apart in age my children will be but I guess we've already been prepared for that...I never expected my first two would be two MINUTES apart. I'm always up for a good surprise, so bring it on :)

So far, most times that we've told people we're adopting, they assume it's because we had difficulty with our first few pregnancies or because I'm afraid of having twins again. And the truth is we would love to have more biological children, but God has been showing us for a while now that adoption is such a beautiful way to grow a family and He's laid it heavy on our hearts that He wants us to be one of those families. There was a lot of fear at first and a little bit of grieving on my part, thinking of possibly never being pregnant again, but "the one who called you is completely dependable. If he said it, he'll do it!" (1 Thess. 5:24, MSG). I know God's calling us into this, so He'll make a way, and already He's taught me to love this avenue of expanding our family. So yes, it's just a choice. We are adopting because we WANT to, not because we have to or because we're afraid of anything.

I don't talk to my dad. He lives within a few miles of me but we don't see each other or communicate. That is also a story for another time....or actually maybe a story for never, not on a public site anyway. I feel very fatherless all of the time. If you want to know, buy me a coffee sometime. Anway, it really sucks. I cling to the promise that God has "adopted us as sons [and daughters] through Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will" (Eph. 1:5). That means that the God of the universe invited me into his family so that he can love and care for me just because he WANTS to. That is sometimes unfathomable to me. And if he did that for me because he enjoys me (even me!) then I am more than blessed to have the privilege to do the same thing here on earth. God gives us a beautiful picture of what a family can look like and how clean and rich and pure our heritage can be if we let it come from him.

We are in the program to receive a domestic, healthy, minority infant. Let me give some stats here: For every healthy Caucasian child born into adoption (in America), there are 64 families waiting to adopt that baby. For every biracial child, there are 3 families waiting. And for every fully African American child, there is less than one family waiting to adopt it. Joe and I are very blessed to know that we CAN have biological children if we want to (for free!), and we are not going to stand in line to wait for a baby that could possibly go to a couple who's only avenue to having children is to adopt. I completely understand that most people want to adopt children who look like them. There are so many reasons that it makes sense, I can't even start a list. But we just don't have that particular desire. We are not "color blind". We see color, we acknowledge it, and we believe it is beautiful.

The movie Hairspray was recently redone (definitely one of my fave musicals) and Queen Latifah is in it (definitely one of my fave celebs). I whole heartedly believe that woman knows everything. She is brilliant. Ok, I don't actually know if that's true but I kinda want to be her nonetheless. Anyway, in the movie, she's talking to her son (who is African American) and his new white girlfriend and she looks at them and says (in all her glory and brilliance...) "Ya'll better get ready for a whole lotta ugly comin at you from a never endin parade a stupid." And that's where I feel like we're at. I know not everybody agrees with the idea of a mixed race family and there are a lot of reasons for it, and some of them are even good reasons. But we know that love isn't always enough. We'll have a lot of obstacles that most families don't have to go through. But to us, it's worth the fight and the extra work and active choice to not be ignorant. More on that later on, I'm sure...

There's just never a dull moment on the ride the Lord is taking us on and I wouldn't trade it for the world. If you're up for it, please pray for us during this next phase of waiting. I do very well when I have busy work to make me feel like I am working toward a goal, and that's what the last 3 months has been for me. The hard part comes now. There's nothing left to do except to continue going about our lives and wait all at the same time.

"A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families..." (Psalm 68:5-6)

Don't go chasing waterfalls without your wipers going ballistic

I am very self conscious about my windshield wipers.

I have a lot of anxiety about driving in the rain. Ok, I have a lot of anxiety in life in general...there, I said it. It's generational, this anxiety....no excuses though, I'm currently trying to let God break me free of it. But I had a childhood friend of mine pass away while we were in high school because her car hydroplaned on a rainy day and hit a telephone pole. Driving in the rain was no big deal until that day. Now, I'm always that white-knuckled idiot driving slower than necessary in the right hand lane when it's raining. And amongst my fear and anxiousness, sometimes all I can think about is who's judging my windshield wipers.

Like I always imagine that if my wipers are going too fast (because I like to keep as much water as possible off of my windshield at all times for maximum visibility), people driving by me or behind me are going to be like "WHOA!! Take it easy you panicky freak! It's just a drizzle! Slow those bad boys down for goodness sake." as they cruise on by all calm and serene. And then they'll get home and tell their spouse "Honey, you will not believe what I saw on the way home today....".

I mean, this is ridiculousness at it's lowest. Trying to make my wipers look normal to other people when on the inside I'm just wishing I could see the road and not crash. So I never keep them at a speed where I'm comfortable, for fear of judgement by PERFECT STRANGERS whom I will never meet nor ever have to explain myself to, and who, I'm certain would NEVER call me out on my wiper speed anyway. Because they'd never notice. I understand this. But I worry anyway...it's totally illogical.

The sad part is I think I've always been this way. Even in middle school. Whenever anyone would stay after school hours to get some extra help or play an intramural sport, we would all go to the cafeteria afterward to wait for the late buses to come. The awesome thing to do was to sit and listen to a CD on your Discman while we waited. I saved my allowance for months just so I could buy that Discman. Then I finally got to take it to school and was totally prepared to be awesome while I waited for the late bus. So here was the problem: everyone would walk around and chat and socialize because that's what middle school humans do, and while they were all doing this, they'd grab the headphones off of anyone who had them just to check out what they were listening to. So I had to make sure I was always listening to something socially acceptable. I bought and listened to CD's like The Notorious B.I.G. (may he rest in peace), Mary J. Blige, and the Space Jam soundtrack...all of which I HATED...just for the off chance that someone might check what I was listening to and those were the dope beats. All I really wanted to listen to was Alan Jackson or The Sound of Music soundtrack but that would have been social suicide had I been caught. So I suffered. I suffered through "Going back to Cali" when I wanted to jam out to "Chattahoochee".

And now, 15 years later, I suffer through a medium speed setting on my windshield wipers when I really want to set them to something supersonically fast.

Is this normal? Please share with me something you are illogically self conscious about.

Oh, and for the record, I do have something to show for listening to music that I didn't like when I was 12. I can still rattle off every word to the rap verse in "Don't go chasing waterfalls" by TLC, and the song "Basketball Jones", which is musical genius in my mind. And that is not a talent that everyone can boast. Booyah.

Why I would make the worst bachelorette in all of history

*Disclaimer: Before you read this, if you care, please understand that I am happily married and I'm not fantasizing about being single again and/or being pursued. I'm just ranting about my thoughts. Please feel free to turn around here and spend your time doing something much more productive. Thank you.

I was all in a tizzy after watching the season finale of The Bachelorette last night. First, if I may offer my thoughts: Chris was way too good for Ali anyway so booya. But Roberto had me at "baseball" so I like him a lot I just don't think it'll work out for them. Move over Perez, you heard it right here folks.

Ok so back to the tizzy. I was all worked up because I realized last night that I really enjoy the whole "getting to know you" process as long as it's not comprised of small talk. And I don't really have a lot of people in my life that I'm in the process of getting to know. That's because I'm fairly non-communicative by nature and it takes just about everything I have to stay in mediocre communication with the family and friends that I already have, I couldn't possibly add any more and do it well. (That being said, if you happen to find me wildly interesting and just can't even THINK about going one more day without being my friend, take a crack at it. We'll see how it goes.) So anyway, it's a conundrum. I like getting to know new people but I'm a little fearful of having new people in my life. "Great, Sam. What does this have to do with the Bachelorette?" , you ask. Well I just figured that even if I were fabulously good-looking and they put me on this show as the bait and threw 25 equally as fabulously good-looking men into a house and revved up the alpha male syndrome so that they all believed they should each, by all means, be my husband...I think they would each eventually hate me and NOT accept this rose. I would like to give you my top ten reasons why I'm convinced I would make the worst Bachelorette in the history of single ladies.

#10: I am SO over saying the right thing to get someone to like me. I mean, I'm a fairly agreeable person in that I just don't enjoy picking fights and having confrontations if it's just not worth it...and I believe it's usually not worth it. But if you're asking me something, I will tell you the truth even if it means we have opposing views. Thus, a lot of these dudes would probably not like me because I would say the wrong thing or give TMI on the first date.

#9: I hate the term "soul mate". I think the only mate my actual soul has is Jesus Christ and who wouldn't be scared away by that competition?

#8: I wear a one-piece bathing suit. Enough said.

#7: I have a natural aversion to making people feel stupid. This is actually a miracle given my upbringing. I was raised by a man who enjoyed few things more than belittling other people in front of a crowd of as many as possible for the sake of a laugh. I can't even be in a room where someone else feels embarrassed, even if it has nothing to do with me. If someone trips or falls anywhere near me, I immediately turn the other way and pretend that I didn't see it just so I can be one less person that the falling party has to feel dumb in front of. So when it comes down to having to send one poor guy home, not only in front of the others that I have decided are better than him, but also in front of millions of Americans seeking entertainment, I just don't think I could do it. I would keep them all. This is not a good way to find a soul mate.

#6: It's personal! I mean, I can't count how many times the latest bachelorette said to one of the guys, "it's nothing personal, you're just not the guy for me." Come on! It's EVERYTHING personal. Now way around it. And again, I'm not really good at being harsh, nor am I good at lying. So that would suck.

#5: All I've ever really wanted is to be a mom as a vocation. How do you convey that to someone on the first date and still have them like you?? I think I already married the one man who's ok with that.

#4: I hate candles. Seriously, have you ever noticed how many candles are always all over the place on this show? Candles provide two things I am absolutely terrified of: fire, and a romantic setting. I would walk around the set with a squirt gun in a holster at all times, extinguishing all the little dancing flames I came across. Again, could be a little off-putting to my potential love interests.

#3: I'm not an especially affectionate human being. Some poor man would reach for my hand and I would probably just smack him. Not an appealing quality.

#2: I'm much too self-conscious to basically stand on a stage and say "Here I am men! Who's interested?" I couldn't even pretend to be perfect for that long.

#1: I. Don't. Do. Adventure. I can picture running through fields of wild flowers (not hand in hand), laughing at all the love in the air and my hair is waving beautifully in the summer breeze because some hollywood glam guy just did it for me and my possible love interest and I come to a large clearing where there is a....helicopter waiting. And I catch my breath and say, "Yes! we will get into this flying device just as soon as I call in my Xanex prescription. How do you like me now?" And then HE actually sends ME home. I don't fly unmedicated. I don't walk across ropes strung between sky scrapers. I don't SWIM WITH STINGRAY! I don't bungee jump. I don't walk on glaciers or volcanoes. I don't climb down into dark caves just to have a date. I don't get on jetskis or motorcycles or cars that go fast. I don't like when nature gets on me. I don't climb mountains or pet wild bears for fun. Wow. I am an absolute drag. And that is why they will never make a show about me.

Now, before you go thinking that I'm all down on myself, I do actually have a list of a few reasons why I would make an awesomer bachelorette than anyone they've ever had. But that's for another post. And now I will go and remain indoors, dressed modestly, and stay on the ground far from any open flames. Good day.