Friday, December 31, 2010

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Friday, December 24, 2010

Christmas Eve

Twas the Night Before Christmas...

And my relatives are doing shots.

It's the one tradition that my dad's side of the family insists upon. Technically, it's not his side of the family, but rather my Uncle Ron's side - who is my dad's brother-in-law (i.e. not blood related to us).

For as long as I can remember...

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Planet Rock

Planet Rock - no connection to Planet of the Apes - unless we're talking about locations where scenes in the movies were filmed, then yes, there is a connection. There is great rock climbing at both. Granted, the rock backdrops in Planet of the Apes is glorious outdooor climbing, whereas, Planet Rock is indoor climbing, but regardless, rockclimbing it is and rockclimbing is what I got to do tonight.

It had been almost 6 months... and I was well overdue for some climbing. I know this because a certain someone recently referred to me as "soft hand beauty" and wrote a piece about me with that phrase as its title. I apprecated his writing and his words, but I was oddly sad, that my hands were or are soft. Because that means that I haven't been doing what I love. When I was climbing my hands were calloused up a bit, and occasionally ripped up a bit as well.

Not that I looooooved having beat up, near manly hands, but I looooooved climbing and my hands were a reflection of what I was passionate about. And a reminder of all the good times climbing and the rad people that I got to climb with... (and)

That's why I love the scar on my right arm. I was bouldering my final night in California and I got scraped up a bit,

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Friday, December 17, 2010


Surabaya: A type of SUV developed by Chevrolet that is fashioned for driving in bay areas such as San Francisco.

Okay, not really. That would simply be my balderdash definition. Surabaya is actually a city in Indonesia - the city where my friend Karin grew up. I mention Karin because she and her brother are in town, and we met up for dinner this evening.

I know Karin from Mosaic in LA. She is 22 years old and currently finishing up film school at Columbia College. Last year we'd occasionally meet up for coffee before church. I was supposed to be her "mentor," and yes, I was somewhat that, but she was also my encourager.

Because just listening to her talk - hearing her joy for life, passion for the Lord, and her heart in loving people - encouraged me greatly when I was at place of weakness.

Reminds me a bit of what Henri Nouwen talks about in his book Lead Like Jesus...
(but I'll need to find that quote another time)

Meeting with her was a always a highlight. I suppose partly because I love working with youth and college students, and that year I had gone from 8 straight years of having "my" girls - (coaching, young life, residence life, etc.) to only being distantly involved in the lives of those who attended a womens study that I help lead at my church.

Between being a camp counselor, a youth leader, an area director, a resident director, a coach, a substitute teacher, and a team leader, I've worked with probably over 10,000 students by now - some more closely than others. And yes, they are the real reason I have so many facebook friends. :)

But what's hard for me, is sometimes you only get one significant conversation. And yes, there are times when you get more - but there always comes a time, when I have to say goodbye.

I got a text at 2 in the morning the other night from a student, asking if I was still up. Of course I was, and so I took the elevator up to her floor to say goodbye. She won't be returning to New York next semester. And I may never see her again - in fact, I probably won't. And it's not that I was close to this particular girl; in fact, I wasn't.

But that's too often my story. Love, leave, and never see again. And I can only hope that God somehow uses me in the brief time that I have with each student that God entrusts to me.

And if any of you (i.e. my former students, campers, etc.) are reading this, please know, I love you, and I'm so thankful for the time that I was able to share with you.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

The Script

This fall I've been referencing in my blog what I call "The Script." But it's really no script at all. In reality, it's my life - the life that I can't write about and publish online, because the characters from the script could potentially stop by and read at any point in time.

The Script, as it is now, would make a great first half of a movie; I just can't promise that the second half will be any good. Because in real life, I don't get to dictate what other characters say and do. I can only interact with them and hope for the best.

Significant conversations took place this past week that surprised even me. And really, I have no idea what the future holds, but I do know that I'm thankful to have stated something that had been on my heart for quite some time.

Actor guy and I met up both Sunday and Monday nights. He's the one who insisted that I have a certain conversation with a certain someone, stating, "All is fair in love in war." Actor guy's words resonated with me because they were the exact same words that a mentor friend said to me over dinner in Santa Cruz last fall. And with those words, I knew that something had to be said.

Regardless of what comes of the conversation that took place Wednesday evening, I'm thankful for actor guy, and for the time that he and I have been able to spend together thus far.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

I Win!

I win!

But only because someone else lost.

Life is often like that - not always, but typically when there is a winner, there is also a loser.

You can only sing "We are the champions..."

When someone else is singing "You better know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."

Actually, I've never heard anyone sing that song after a loss, but there is no, "We are the Losers" song that I could think of so the above is my best attempt. People don't tend to sing at all when they lose - unless it involves losing your guy or girl to another someone - and well, there are plenty of songs on the radio about that type of loss.

But in general, if someone loses, it's more likely that there is either cussing or silence or, if you're a junior high girl that just got cut from a sports team - crying. I use to make a lot of junior high girls cry when I coached cheerleading. The end of tryouts week was never fun for me. Track was much better sport to coach, because everyone automatically made the team. Everyone who came out for the team was winner - well, that is, until we started having a track meets against other teams.

But today I won -

$17 dollars to be exact.

I found a soggy 10, 5, and 2 ones when I opened the washing machine to remove my cleaned clothes.

There's a slight possibility that it was my money to begin with, but I don't think so - I'm pretty sure I checked the pockets of 1 pair of jeans that was in the load before I threw them in. I've washed one too many chapsticks in my life that I try to make a point to check.

Which reminds me of a proposal that a guy I know once wanted to use (he's already married, so this won't spoil it...) And if you're a guy, feel free to use it - but honestly I wouldn't recommend it. It was about 4 girlfriends ago, that my

(To be finished...)

And I would give it back to the rightful owner, except there is no way to track that person down

Friday, December 10, 2010

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Monday, December 6, 2010

Saturday, December 4, 2010

2nd Mullet From the Right

It's that time of year folks - the time of year when Moms and Grandmas all across the nation start digging out their favorite ugly Christmas sweaters, and start sporting them all around town. Now I know we have freedom in fashion in the US, but really there are some clothing items that should only be worn in the privacy of one's home.

I'm not someone who is pro government regulation, but when it comes to ugly Christmas sweaters, I wish the government would intervene. The fashion industry is simply not doing its job in shielding the public eye from obnoxious holiday wear. If anything, they are encouraging it, or at least Martha Stewart is.

And to make matters worse, ugly Christmas sweaters have been popularized by the youth of America. Ugly Christmas sweaters are encouraged, and sometimes mandatory dress code at today's holiday parties. Somehow our society has gone so downhill that the college kid with the ugliest sweater is the coolest guy at the frat party. Certainly this fashion disaster isn't as bad as what transpired in the 80s, but even still - ugly Christmas sweaters, you are not cool.

Why I bring this up is because I went to my first Christmas party of the season last night - and well, lots of ugly Chrismas sweaters were present - lots of adultsized holiday onesies too, actually (which is a whole other matter that I don't want to get into.)

But a component of this party that I had never heard of before is the awkward family photo wall. Instructions were stated in the invite to bring an awkward family photo to the party, and that there would be winner for the most awkward family photo.

And well, there is lot to that I could say about awkward family photos...
But for now, I'll simply encouarge you to check out a sight that I just stumbled upon this evening

One of my favorite pics, is the one with the caption, "My Brother-in-Law, Norbert (second mullet from right), is a semi-professional bowler and used to bowl in many different state/national leagues and tournaments. This photo was taken at the big Las Vegas National Bowling Stadium Championship Tournament back in 1985. This was the man and this was his team and they didn’t mess around.”

Friday, December 3, 2010

Stealing Baseball Cards

"Well, you can come to church with me sometime if you'd like."

I extended the invitation, thinking that she might actually accept.

"It's not Catholic - is it?" She inquired.


"Oh good." She expressed her relief and then explained, "Catholics have lots of things to do at church..."

I laughed because having grown up in a not too distant liturgical denomination, I knew exactly what she was talking about. Standing up, sitting down, kneeling, repeating a few words here, reading a group prayer there - Catholics do have lots of things to do at church.

I'd go on, but I'm writing yet another paper for grad school (and I have lots of things to do), so instead of new words, here is yet another old blurb:

My Catholic friend Tom, no relation to MySpace Tom, once told me that he use to lie quite a bit as a kid - but only to his priest. His parents insisted that he go to confession at least once a week, but Tom rarely had any “good” sins to confess, so instead he would make stuff up and lie to the priest about things he hadn’t done – like hitting his brother and stealing baseball cards from his friends. Each time the priest absolved his “sins” Tom would walk away from the confessional booth feeling guilty for having lied to the nice man behind the screen. As one song writer once put it, “Isn’t it ironic. Don’t you think?”

A few years ago I decided to become Catholic – but only for a month.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Do You Trust Me?

As Princess Jasmine stood on the balcony, Aladdin reached out his hand an asked the question, "Do you trust me?"

Jasmine, at first, was skeptical and hesitant of Aladdin and his magical carpet.

But there was something comforting and familiar about his voice, so she considered the invitation to join him.

Do you trust me?

"Do I trust him?" She pondered.

Aladdin was asking her to risk, and to go on an adventure she wasn't sure she wanted to go on. She internally argued that it was safer to just to stay put on the balcony. After all, life on the balcony wasn't all that bad - except, well, it seemed to be missing something. And there was an insistence inside of her that told her that there had to be more.

Aladdin patiently waited for her to response.

Do you trust me?

Finally she placed her hand in his and said, "Yes. I trust you."

The thing is, Jesus asks everyone that very same question...





Yesterday I met up with someone who decided to take that step of faith and say "yes, I trust you." She's on the carpet and I couldn't be more thrilled.


Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Shy or Not So Shy?

"Were you shy as a kid?" His dark green eyes waited for my response, and I waited for an answer to surface from within, but one didn't, so I made something up.

It's not that I lied. But rather, I skirted around the question - stumbling may way through a less than articulate response when I should have simply stated the truth - I don't know.

However, I determined that I would do some research and get back to him.

The following day I called my parents and asked them the question, but they weren't much help. They only reminded me that my siblings, especially my big sis, were extremely talkative, so I didn't get much of an opportunity to say anything as a kid - at least not at home.

But that doesn't necessarily make one shy. Then again, what exactly does shy mean? definition #8
shy: not bearing or breeding freely, as plants or animals.

Yeah, I'm definitely not shy in that sort of way. I don't breed freely. Nor do I have any kids.

I considered a childhood friend might know the answer, so I looked up my friend Abigail on facebook and left her a comment.

"someone recently asked me if i was shy as a kid... i didn't really know how to answer that... any insight from our time together in preschool?"

Abigail replied, "You weren't shy as a kid or overly loud from what i can remember. You are pretty much the same now i guess..." definition #7
shy: indebted to the pot

Hmmm... pot. As in weed? The toilet? The pot on the stove?

Oh wait, there is a clarifier - the pot, as in poker. Yeah, I don't play poker. But the guy who taught me to surf does. He's a professional, actually; you can watch him on TV. I had a crush on him once - for about 24 hours. I even wrote a cheesy song about it - it's entitled "That One Day." (I'd post the lyrics, but I left them in California.)

But speaking of guys, until I was about 17ish, I would say I was shy around guys; in fact, I'd even go as far as to say I was awkward around guys (oh wait, I still am). But seriously though, I remember 8th grade, when I liked that football player, but I was too scared to talk to him. Thankfully he wasn't too scared to talk to me. Because he asked me to dance with him at that junior high dance. I still recall the Bon Jovi Song that we slow danced to, "And I will love you, baby - Always..."

Funny thing is, a few years ago he actually did tell me that he loved me. But the love he spoke of is of different kind. It's the "I care deeply about you love," not the I want to marry you and have hot sex with you love.

So yes, I was shy around guys as a kid, or at least in junior high and high school. Nowadays I'm probably not shy enough around men.

(And we'll finish this post at another time)

It wasn't until I my mid-twenties that I was confidant enough to carry or enter a conversation at our family dinners. I didn't want to try and compete. And raising my hand to speak didn't seem to work. Perhaps because they thought I was stretching...

Monday, November 29, 2010

The Williamsburg Bridge

"What I'm trying to say, is that people trust God even when they don't realize it."

Mitch, Abby, and I were out for a night run, and after running across the Williamsburg Bridge and back, we jogged to a park located alongside the water, where we paused to soak up the glorious and surreal view of the bridge and the surrounding city lights. The base pillars rising up out of the water seemed so big - and we felt so small.

That's when Mitch got all deep and contemplative and philosophical on us. He started talking
about how every day thousands of people entrust their lives to the Williamsburg Bridge without even giving it a second thought. They take the subway train across it, or drive or bike, or as we did - run. And all the while, they have faith that the bridge will hold them up.

Mitch started to talk about the Laws of Physics and how people trust the bridge because they trust the engineers who built it, who in turn trust the Laws of Physics. Mitch pointed out that God created the Laws of Physics and it's truth that people trust in. But ultimately that truth stems from God, therefore, Mitch concluded, "People trust God even when they don't realize it."

But Abby starting questioning right away. "Well, what about that bridge in Minnesota that collapsed a few years back?"

I remember the incident because I received a text from a friend, asking me to pray for this man who lost his wife and two kids in the tragedy. The same day I received the prayer request my dad gave me a "praise report" over the phone that a family he knew made it safely across the bridge just before it collapsed.

I think Abby was trying to argue that in that particular instance, the Laws of Physics failed us - and if that's the case, then didn't God fail us too?

That's when Mitch turned to me and pleaded, "Katrina, can you help me out here?"

"Think about it this way Abby." I tried to dig something up from within that might be helpful. "Let's say that gravity didn't exist."

"Oh, wow. That would be fun." Abby smiled as she dreamed of the possibility. "We'd be able to fly through the sky. That would be awesome."

"Perhaps, but I don't think it would be quite as simple as that. We'd probably drift away to outer space where we wouldn't have any oxygen to breathe. And well, we'd probably be dead."

"That's right." Mitch piped. "Even if we stuck to the earth, without the gravitational pull of the planets, we'd probably be burned up by the sun."

"It's true. There is a delicate balance to everything in our universe."

Our dialogue on God and gravity continued on for a bit until it shifted to cartwheels. (Mitch claims he can do one, but he refused to demonstrate.)

It's interesting though, it's not the delicate balance that convinces me that God exists - even though it makes logical sense that there has to be some Creater that pieced this universe together, for me, it's more about knowing and experiencing God's goodness and faithfulness in my life. I know His character - and that's why I trust in Him.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Not So Great Ideas

So... I'm starting to learn a bit about the publishing industry. I thought it might be a helpful thing to do since I'd like to publish a book someday. So far I've learned that I'm supposed to have an agent. I think a literary one, but I hung out with my special agent friend last night and I'm wondering if he might do the trick.

All he would have to do is go to Harper Collins or Random House, flash his special agent badge, ask to speak with an acquisitions editor, and then hold out his gun until the editor reads my material and agrees to a book deal. Conveniently my special agent friend was previously a lawyer so he could also negotiate and make certain the contract works in my favor.

With his badge and his gun quickening the process, I could be signed in an afternoon to any publisher in the city.

Then again, we could both get arrested and be sent to jail instead, but even that wouldn't be such a bad deal. Free housing, free food, and probably some really great book material would surface because of the experience. Oh, but wait, I don't look good in orange. Forget that idea.

Speaking of not so great ideas...

I went running in shorts and a tangerine (not to be confused with orange) tank top today. It wasn't warm (unless 35 is the new warm), but rather I was hoping that just maybe I might pick up some sun along the way. Really, I do think I got some color, but I'm thinking now that it's probably just wind burn.

While I was out I received a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. And because I've been on emergency call for our unversity, I picked up...

Friday, November 26, 2010

I Know That You Know

The other day I was talking to my 2nd hottest guy friend, and after he shared with me his deep longing

for Meijer (a Midwest only 24 hour store), and I shared with him my passionate desire for a Target and In-N-Out in midtown, our conversation drifted to me trying to tell a story that I never got to tell because we got sidetracked in our dialogue.

"I know a lot of people that you know. Like..." I listed off about 5 of his good friends, including the one who is lactose intolerant, and the one who told me he thinks I look like the chick that gets blown up in the car in the movie The Godfather.

He replied, "I know that you know a lot of people that I know."

To which I replied, "Yeah I probably didn't need list off those names. Because I know that you know that I know a lot of people that you know."

"Well, just so you know, there are also plenty of people that I know that you don't know."

"Yeah, I know."

That conversation took place at the beginning of the week, when we were still trying to resolve where we'd be spending Thanksgiving.

Today we spoke again. He called to inform me that he is not liable for any guys that I may meet or date because of him. He does not want to be held responsible for any damages (aka heartache) that they might cause me. And he reminded me, that although his friends are his friends, they are still guys. Which I think could be translated, that just because he is friends with them, doesn't make them immune from being jerks, or from wanting to prehoneymoon with me.

I told him I realized that, and assured him that I wouldn't hold him responsible.

I think what spurred the conversation is that I recently met one of his friends...

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

It Could Happen

My mentor and friend Kim McManus told me last spring that if I did, that it would mean the end of our friendship. She told me this over dinner at La Caravan Restaurante Salvadoreno on North Lake Street in Pasadena. We were saying our final farewells and somewhere amidst our conversation I mentioned that in my move from LA to New York I was considering the possibility.

She shot down my idea, shaking her head in disapproval - jokingly, but I think she was half-serious - not that she would actually end our friendship over the matter, but I do believe she found it peculiar that I would pursue something of that sort of nature. Perhaps because she thinks it's unnecessary, and maybe it is, but I thought perhaps it could be helpful - and actually, I still think that it could be helpful. And several of my coworkers contest that it is.

This evening I met up with some acquaintance friends at a place called Stout, located on 33rd Street, and well, it became a hot topic of conversation.

I'm talking about e-harmony. I've never actually done it for real; I almost did it twice, but I couldn't quite bring myself to pay money to meet men. But I've been warming up to the idea, and it could potentially happen any day now - or maybe a week from today now.

I decided back in September that if I go more than 2 weeks without meeting a guy or going on some sort of date, then I'd sign up. But so far, well, I keep meeting men, and I've gone on more dates in the past few months than I did the entire decade of my twenties.

But I also have some fears surrounding signing up. Such as, I could be paired with someone I already know. One of the gals I was out with tonight (tall - 5'9", beautiful, and brilliant) shared with our group that she was matched with her ex-boyfriend and with a guy who is 5'4". Thankfully I don't have to worry about getting matched with an ex (they're all married), but what if I got matched with one of my coworkers? And if they're matching a 5'9" girl with some dude who is 5'4", the matching system really can't be all that great.

Hmmm... armony?

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Christian Erotica?

I've been working on my masters for, oh, about 7 years now. My degree can be completed in 2, but since the school told me I could take up to 10 years, I thought I’d at least take 8 - perhaps 9.
To be honest, it’s a degree that I really don’t want, but that I know I ought to have because it’s good for me and for my resume. It’s kind of like eating broccoli when you’re a kid – except when I was a kid I found ways to get around actually eating the broccoli. Sometimes I’d put it in my mouth and then, after pretending to chew it for a few moments, I’d spit it out in my napkin. Other times I’d save it for the end of my meal, put it in my mouth, and then once I was dismissed from the dinner table I’d run outside and spit it out in the bushes. My parents never discovered my bad broccoli behavior.

But you can’t really hide a Masters degree in a napkin, or spit the content out in your backyard. You actually have to study, do research, write papers, and take exams. I hate every moment of it and would rather clean up puke every day for the rest of my life than be in graduate school. But I’m still in it, and it has been a long and painful process.

But sometimes the work isn’t all that bad, and some days I actually learn a thing or two that is helpful in the grander scheme of life. In fact, this semester I’m doing a directed study in which I’m receiving credit to research and write papers about the book publishing industry.

Today, in my research, I stumbled across the following paragraph:

"Two of the hottest categories in fiction today are Christian fiction and erotica. As a writer you would be ill advised to attempt to combine these two categories in the same book; the former has strict rules prohibiting sexual depictions (or even touching below the neck), while the latter has strict expectations that all can and must be bared. What’s especially interesting is that both categories have exploded at the same time, and that both have sparked a proliferation of subgenres: erotica suspense, Christian suspense, erotica science fiction, Christian science fiction, etc. But this is great news for writers in those categories and subgenres."

This paragraph is from a credible source called Writer’s Market Guide to Getting Published. And well, I found the paragraph to be especially funny, and I thought you might too.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Sunday, November 21, 2010

I'm Cursed...

And I'm up writing a 10 page paper for class, so rather than writing something new for this blog, here's an old blurb for you to enjoy:

I believe we’re all born with at least one special curse. I mean, sure, we all get the God-given curses that go along with being male or female, but I’m talking about those above and beyond curses. For some it may be early male-pattern balding such as with my dad, or the inability to clap on beat such as with my mom. For others it may be uncontrollable snorting, extreme disorganization, fear of heights or susceptibility to sunburn. For me, it’s procrastination.

I was procrastinating even before I was born. I kept putting off the whole birthing process until I was well beyond a manageable weight. I work best with deadlines, and since the doctor didn’t clearly specify when I had to be out by, I took no initiative to leave my mom’s cozy womb. And when my poor mother finally did try to push me out, I wouldn’t budge. At 10 pounds, 4 ounces, there was no way. Had the doctor not yanked me out in a C-section, I probably would have stayed in there for several more weeks.

For whatever reason, my birth curse always surfaces when I’m about to leave on a big trip or when an academic paper is due. It often results in an all-nighter and a miserable day to follow. In fact, there was one month of college I was averaging two all-nighters a week in order to get my papers written in time for class. It was then that I decided if I was in charge of designing hell, rather than gnashing of teeth, there would be research papers due every morning…and Satan would have to grade every single one of them.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Friday, November 19, 2010

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Screeching Japanese

Last night around 7, five guys showed up at my apartment door with flowers. A few hours later an actor guy showed up at my door with some gourmet chocolate treats.

Five guys (which is also the name of a burger place in NYC that I have yet to try out), didn't show up at my apartment just for me, but rather they came to ask the girls that were meeting in my apartment to go with them to a swing dance event tomorrow (Friday) night. But, I was also asked - not by a student, but by my boss. Which, to be honest, I think is a bit awkward - especially since he's only 5'6", placing me a couple of inches taller than him. Maybe we can get him a pair of platform shoes - either that - or some stilts.

Actor guy, who is 6'2" and in no need of any kind of lift, is the reason that I didn't get any writing done last night. He kept me up til about 3, which I didn't mind so much at all. I especially liked the part where we were on this rooftop, just the two of us - well that is, until a Japanese woman and her dog joined us. Actor guy and I thought she might be cussing at her dog, but we couldn't tell for sure because she was screeching Japanese, and neither he nor I studied Japanese cuss words in high school - only Spanish ones.

After she left, actor guy pointed out a constellation and I proudly pointed out the Empire State Building. I'm getting so good at building identification. So far I can identify and name three in New York City. I think I impressed him because he started to say nice stuff - like I'm beautiful and I'd really like to kiss you. Okay, so maybe he didn't actually say the second part, but I'm rather convinced he thought it. And if he didn't, I certainly did.

* For those following "The Script"actor guy is actually one of the characters in it.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

"Have you ever read the book Blue Like Jazz?" I asked David the question as we were setting up camp.

"No, but it's on my list of books to read to score points with girls." We both laughed, but really, he wasn't joking. He seriously thought it might be a good book to read to help him get in with the ladies. I asked him what other books are on the list and he named 4 or 5 titles - names of books that didn't impress me (nor am able to recall 6 months after our camping trip).

I wouldn't say that Blue Like Jazz would win me over, but it would make me think that we could be friends - kind of like if you owned a pair of chocos, a surfboard, a guitar, or a private jet that you like to take your friends on trips in. But we could also be friends if you have facebook.

The reason I am friends with David is because he has facebook and he owns a whole lot of rockclimbing equipment. I'm serious on this.

For those following "the Script," I didn't like it today. A scene took place that I didn't know about until much later in the day and it annoyed me that it had taken place at all. I wanted more control of the Script, but there are now more actors involved so I'm going to be in fewer scenes, and I'm not going to know all of the dialogue taking place.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Ice Ice Baby

“Hey Shannen, what do you think of when you hear the word, word?” I had just returned from a run and had been considering the word, word while I was out and about the city.

“Word up homey.” My roommate replied.

“And what does that mean?” I typed her answers as she spoke them.

“You know, something like, ‘What’s up G?’”

“And what does G mean?”

“Friend, boy, girl, it - it’s like a generic phrase for, ‘What’s up you?’”

“How do you know all of this?”

Shannen paused for a moment. “I don’t know. I’m a little white girl, raised in the ghetto until we moved when I was 10. The year after we moved…” Shannen went on to tell me the stories of two horrific crimes that took place in her childhood neighborhood shortly after she and her family had moved away. And I stopped typing. They are the kind of stories that would easily find their way into a Stephen King novel, but won’t find their way onto my blog.

She ended her recall by stating, “I’m glad we got out when we did.”

“I’m glad you did too.” I set my computer aside and hit the shower, thinking about Vanilla Ice, his bad eyebrow job, and the part at the end of his song that where he says, “Yo man, lets’ get out of here - word to your mother.”

Word to your mother? What does that even mean?

The reason I was overanalyzing the word, word is not simply because I’m a girl, and that’s what we do, but rather because tonight I went a different sort of run. You see, I’ve known for quite some time that I live in the Publishing Capital of the World – I just didn’t realize that I lived so close (i.e. within running distance) to two of the biggest publishing companies in the world – Random House at 56th & Broadway, and Harper Collins on East 53rd street between 5th and Madison.

And so this evening, after spending several hours researching publishers for my graduate work, I ran to the skyscraper homes of Random House and Harper Collins and did somewhat of a charismatic thing – I laid hands on the buildings and prayer walked around them on the adjacent sidewalk. I can’t tell you all that I prayed, mainly because some of it was in tongues, and so really, I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to, but some of it was also rather personal – you know, like how it should be in a relationship with God.

But it was at Harper Collins on 53rd, that I really began to consider the significance of words – and I began to ponder the Scriptures – like at the beginning of John 1. The chapter starts off by saying, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.” This passage of Scripture use to confuse me as much as Vanilla Ice. Finally one day someone told me the “secret” that the Word was Jesus, and so really the passage was trying to say, that in the beginning was Jesus, and Jesus was with God, and Jesus was God.

Granted, it says later in the chapter, that the word became flesh and dwelled among us, and so I should have put two and two together, but I also should have known that when I signed up to take Hebrew in college it was study the Hebrew language – not the books of Hebrews.

(more to come)

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Found It!

September 25th I started my search, and today – forty-eight days later – I finally found it! To be honest, my search has been less than intentional, yet I’ve been hopeful that our paths would eventually cross, and today, they did! I discovered it while I was out running along the Hudson River. I smiled when I read its sign – Pier 40.

The reason why Pier 40 is significant: well, you’ll have to read my September 25th entry to hear the whole story (a piece I’ll soon be posting for those of you who follow…)

But I will tell you, shortly after midnight on September 25th, my facebook status stated, “Katrina Blank got lost tonight and rather than watching a soccer game at pier 40, i ended up on a yacht at chelsea pier 59... sometimes it's not such a bad thing to be directionally challenged...”

Friday, November 12, 2010

The Office

"The sink in the kitchen has become problematic."

I'd like to say that this is quote from The Office, as in the television show, but oh no. It's a quote from my office. The words were spoken at this past week's staff meeting.

I honestly think I need to start recording some of what happens in our office and submit the content. Because on days like the day when my boss tells me, "You win a roll of duct tape!" And hands me one, explaining...

An hour or two later he pulled out a Jimbay from under his desk and started singing an impromptu song to the beat of his drum.

And then there are the times when the conversation just gets awkward - like back in September when a coworker started telling me about her yoga instructor. And that he might be someone she might want to set me up with... and her next line...

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Missed Connection #2

Africa Craigslist > Ethiopia > Personals > Missed Connections

(more to come)

Wednesday, November 10, 2010


I spoke with my Chicago friend again tonight. He was concerned that I might be high. I promised him that I wasn't, but I can understand his suspicion. In our phone conversation I giggled more than I ought. It started off okay - I told him a story that I thought was funny; he thought so too and affirmed my humor by laughing with me. But... then I kept going on with a part 2 to the story - kind of like an encore. And well, I kept giggling and he had stopped laughing at the end of part 1.

A few hours later, as I pondered my Chicago friend's, suspicion, I started giggling again. To which my roommate Shannen inquired, "Okay Roomie, what's going on in that head of yours?" It's not uncommon for Shannen to eavesdrop on my giggling - typically this occurs when I'm up writing some sort of nonsense that I hope the world (i.e. all 5 people who read my blog) will read and also chuckle - either inwardly or in a LOL sort of way.

But Shannen recently informed me that I also giggle in my sleep. I didn't know that was possible. Gosh, I must be dreaming up some pretty funny stuff at night. A scary dream at night is called a nightmare, but what do you call a funny dream? Perhaps a nightomedy? (nightmare + comedy = nightomedy)

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Double Rainbow

This evening my second hottest guy friend introduced me and my roommate Shannen to an Irish man name Thomas, and to a band named Sarah & The Stanleys.

The introductions took place following a short stint at Bowery Electric where we watched a band called Brenn perform. The guys from Brenn, when not on tour, reside in Nashville, Tennessee - which is where I first attended one of their shows a year and a half ago. (I was in town co-emceeing a friend's wedding reception with a gal who I learned much later on is the Chief Religion Correspondent for FOX News; I'm glad I didn't know that then - I might have been intimidated.)

But it was at that Brenn show that I had my first dose of city luck, meeting a cute boy and going on two dates with him all within my short 3-day stay. For some reason I seem to have much better luck meeting guys in non So Cal cities - such as Paris, Chicago, and New York (definitely New York).

Although, tonight the only guys that I met are the ones that my second hottest guy friend introduced me to, which, to be honest, I can't even remember who he all introduced me to - I can only recall Thomas and Evan. Thomas is the Irish man and he oversees an amazing nonprofit called One Home Many Hopes that builds orphanages in Kenya. You can check out the website at

(In works)

The one they are working towards funding is to be built on a Coastal town north of Mombasa (which is where I celebrated my 26th birthday, snorkeling in the Indian Ocean). If you'd like to make a contribution...

And Evan, well, he doesn't so much work with orphans, but he certainly has a gift for bringing joy to the world by helping to create songs and videos that make people smile.

He plays keyboard in the group Sarah and The Stanleys,
(More to come)

They played at Rockwood Hall 2

When my second hottest guy friend told me about the band and insisted that I would love them, I knew that I would - simply based on the name of their group. You see, I had a camper once named Sarah Stanley, and she was one of my favorites. I think she was one of my favorites because she was perhaps even more random then me and we had the same taste in men - or at least one counselor in particular.

Sarah Stanley lives in Boston and I recently tried to convince her to NYC and go with me to a Halloween Party in Brooklyn. She wasn't able (so she says), but she told me...

Monday, November 8, 2010

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Saturday, November 6, 2010

For the Record

Me: I have some good news and some bad news.

Him: Okay. I'll take the good news first.

Me: The good news is, Michigan won today.

Him: Yeah, I know 67 to 65. I just caught the end of that game. So what's the bad news?

Me: The bad news is, I didn't get to see the game.

Him: You didn't get to see the triple overtime?

Me: What? They went into triple overtime?

Him: Yeah, what were you doing?

Me: Now I feel even more miserable about missing the game. I went to some chili cook of thing in Central Park with my roommate, but by the time we got there they were already out of chili.

A half hour later into the conversation...

"For the record, I was never interested in you."

I told this to my good guy friend very matter of factly. And it's true. I never was. There were a few times that I thought maybe I should be, but I wasn't. He has always been more like a brother to me - which is why we are probably still good friends and why he and his now wife asked me to read Scripture at their wedding 8 years ago. If I had different anatomy I probably would have been one of the groomsmen.

This evening, aside from Michigan football and their dysfunctional defense, we discussed guy/girl dynamics in friendships and in relationships, and somehow an old story surfaced - the time when he "tricked" me into going to his family cabin with him for the weekend.

I was 17 years old and working at Spring Hill Summer Camp in northern Michigan, and he invited me to go along with a group of camp staff to his cabin in Cadillac - except it ended up not being a group...

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Xena Princess Warrior

Someone texted me around 1 am this morning inquiring, “are you still on ca time?”

I texted back, “kind of – im now living in nyc – but have been staying up til 3 or 4 most nights… what’s up?”

Evidently that someone (i.e. a long, lost ex), didn’t get the memo that I had moved to NYC. To be honest, I was somewhat hoping to lose him in my cross country move – but only because I still owe him a beer from a competition that I lost a while ago. At this point I’d prefer not to buy him one, but we both agreed on the beer wage that was bet and since I lost, it’s only fair that I do.

A few minutes after the texting, a different “he” started a facebook conversation with me:

He - hey night owl

Me - ah yes, it’s true. i’m nocturnal.

He - i picture you as a vampire

Me - as a vampire – eh? as in buffy?

He - you are not that tough

Me - lol… and i won’t claim to be…

Mainly because I still hate that 12 years ago my second hottest guy friend compared me to Xena Princess Warrior – a character from a television show that I’ve never seen, but that apparently aired from 1995 to 2001. I think the Xena idea came to him one evening while we were at summer camp, playing a game called M&M Wars. I was wearing face paint and running through the woods on a mission to find a silver bucket without being captured and detained by enemy forces (i.e. 8 to 10 year old boys and their attractive 18 to 24 year old counselors.) Gosh, I miss the days of summer camp – and all the good looking guys that worked there…

But being called Xena - even if it was only a few times - is something that I do not miss. I know Xena was a princess and all, but the word warrior has too many masculine connotations attached to it for me to agree to it – I don’t want to be considered manly. Now Pocahontas, on the other hand, I proudly accepted that name.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Confession #2

I'd like to say that this confession involves something innocent - such as my current craving for a donut from #2 Donuts, located just off the 91 freeway in Riverside, California.

(in works)

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Monday, November 1, 2010

Cubicle Conversations

"It's smells like fried chicken by the copier."

I didn't smell anything out of the ordinary, but then again, I was about 15 feet away from the copier. I took Ray, my coworker, at his word, because I don't think he would be one to make up lies concerning certain miasmas hovering over the xerox machine.

Miasma isn't a word that I use a lot - mainly because I don't think that most people know what it means, and to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I really do either.

But according to definition #2 it means

pollution in the atmosphere, esp noxious vapors from decomposing organic matter

I learned the word my freshmen year of high school when my friend Kimberlee and I would sit in the corner of our English class and pick paint chips of of the wall. (For the record, in case you were concerned, no, we didn't eat them.) Miasma was one of our vocabulary words that we had to study and learn for some test, and for some reason, Kimberlee really like that word.

I ran track with Kimberlee (well, I didn't run with her, I ran several minutes behind her; she was an all-state runner and I was - well, lets just say I was slow.) Kim would occasionally yell out the word miasma just for kicks, but I'm also convinced that on our 4 mile runs that she would yell it out when she passed by roadkill such a raccoon or deer rotting by the side of the road. I can't say for certain if she yelled this or not, because like I mentioned before, I was a much slower runner than she.

Everyone once in a while I get inspired to increase my vocabulary. Most recently it was when I studied for the GRE....

(In works)

But I also was prompted to consider increasing my vocabulary after the time a man at the post office tried to hit on me, but I didn't know the meaning of one of the words in his pick up line...

(In works)

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Alien Sighting

Yesterday I saw an alien standing about 3 ½ feet tall on a large boulder located within Central Park. He or she was green, possibly androgynous, and possibly ambidextrous as well. Evidently such sightings are frequent during this time of the year because aliens feel they can walk freely among Halloweeners and not be gawked at for their looks or be taken in for AIDS Testing - Alien Identification & Detection Screening.

I’m rather certain this particular alien was ambidextrous because I saw (it?) clapping its hands to the beat of a nearby drum circle, and its left and right hands seem to meet with equal impact. No favor was granted to either hand –I was impressed by the alien’s technique, actually. I wish I could be that great of a clapper – maybe someday, with lots of practice…. I can always dream.

My 2nd hottest guy friend claims to be ambidextrous, and he comes close when it comes to clapping, but I’ve seen him drink beer and play cards, and he’s definitely left handed. Plus, he’s rather good looking, which further confirms in my mind that he is left-handed.

I’ve had this theory for about 10 years now, that, in general, left-handed people tend to be slightly better looking than right-handed people. I have yet to somehow test and prove my theory, but I’m rather certain that it is true. (And, no, I’m not left-handed.)

So last night I headed to a costume party in Brooklyn – I didn’t see any aliens on the way there, but I did see a pregnant nun with lots of facial hair. I’m rather confident that it was a costume, but after the pregnancy incident with the Virgin Mary, you just never know, so I didn’t ask.

But I did ask myself the question late last night…

And that’s where this blog entry ends…

For those following “the Script,” this past weekend it took an interesting turn. I’m thoroughly enjoying the screen play as it unfolds.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Million Dollar Quartet

It was just yesterday evening that I secured two free tickets to tonight’s show – which meant that I had less than 24 hours to find someone who might want to go with me. To be honest, it took much more effort than I thought it would to find a friend or “date” to go – kind of like how it was when I had won tickets to the Super Bowl. (I still don’t get that one, but I did learn from that experience that he’s not that into you if you win tickets to the Super Bowl and he’d rather watch the game from home.)

After much texting - finally, an hour before the show, my friend Ali agreed to go. Together we made our way down Broadway, took a left at 41st Street, and headed west until we were standing in front of Nederlander Theatre. To be honest, I was glad it was Ali, rather than some random guy I know in the city (such as Erik, Peter, Mark, or Richie) that came with me this evening, because I didn’t know much about the musical and I feared that if it was a guy he might be bored by the show, then psychologically associate me that boredom with me, and then never ask me out again. (It’s true, I over think things, but I’m girl, and I have futuristic – see Strengths finder 2.0 – so I can’t help but over analyze, over calculate and make predictions that may or may not be accurate.)

The name of the show was Million Dollar Quartet, and as we sat down in our seats, we were presented with a movie-like screen that stated the following:

On December 4, 1956, one man brought Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Elvis Presley together to play for the first and only time.

His name was Sam Phillips…
The place was Sun Records…
That night they made rock ‘n’ roll history.

Throughout the musical the actors performed hits such as “Blue Suede Shoes”, “Great Balls of Fire”, “See You Later Alligator”, and “Hound Dog.” The pretend Johnny Cash even sang “I Walk the Line” and when he did I was reminded of a time when I was running down a historically persevered avenue in Riverside, California known as Victoria. The avenue, lined with trails and bike paths and palm trees, was my haven from the worries and cares in life, and I joined its company most every day when I lived in So Cal.

One day as I was running, a CD suddenly fell onto the ground in front of me. It seemed like the CD had fallen from the heavens, but when I looked up, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the only reasonable explanation is that it had fallen out of the leaves of a Palm Tree. I stopped running, picked it up and read its label. Sharpeed onto the CD was the name Johnny Cash. Although the CD was scratched up a bit, for some reason I kept it – I think because it’s not every day that a Johnny Cash CD falls from the sky. I’m still trying to place meaning on that incident - thus far have been unsuccessful.

Interestly enough, it’s not the first time something that has fallen right in front of me from seemingly nowhere. A year or two before the CD incident I was walking in the Lower Level of Riversides’ Tyler Mall.

(Still in the Works)

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Hit On By Batman

“Hey there hot stuff. How’s it going?”

Really? Hot Stuff? That’s the lamest pick up line I’ve heard since moving to the city. Thankfully I had my headphones in my ears and was able to pretend not to hear. Can’t I at least go running without being hit on?

That was today. But on Tuesday I was hit on by Batman. Well, he may not have been THE Batman, but he certainly dressed the part. I suppose you could compare him to a mall Santa Claus – you know he’s not the real thing, but some people think he’s kind of cool and insist on getting their picture taken with him. But not me – I insisted on continuing on my way.

So I’ve been considering becoming a nun.

After all, I look pretty good in black. And, it would only be for a couple of days - specifically this Saturday, and some of Sunday. I considered this option as I passed by a “nun” on 5th avenue this evening. I put nun in quotes because I don’t know if she actually was one or if she was just dressed up like one for Halloween.

Honestly, I probably won’t be a nun. (Actually, I know I won’t – ever – for Halloween or for real.) But I don’t want to be a slut for Halloween either – and that’s what my friend Liz informed me that most females in the city are for Halloween. My friend Amara suggested that I be a Miss America pageant contestant, but I’m not such a huge fan of that idea either. I would be a surfer girl, but my darn surfboard is still in Southern California, so that doesn’t work either.

(Still in the works)

One thing is for certain, I won't be dressing up for work. In my inbox:

Costume regulations for the ESB

Good morning, students!

The Empire State Building has asked us to remind you of their Halloween costume policy. Please note that for security reasons, the ESB does not allow any costumes to be worn in the main lobby, turnstile areas, or elevators. Additionally, there will be no costumes allowed in the Observatory. This includes all tenants and guests: children, teens, and adults. Thank you for following this policy!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Casey Jones

(in Works)

I'm not sure who Casey Jones is, but evidently he drives a train, sometimes high on cocaine. The The band known as the Grateful Dead warns him to watch his speed, singing, "Trouble ahead, trouble behind, and you know that notion just crossed my mind."

A bring Casey up because I got on the wrong train tonight. Granted it was a subway train, rather than a choo choo train, but they fall in the same genre - transportation.

October 23, 2010 2:14 AM facebook status:
sometimes it's not so bad getting on the wrong subway train... because sometimes somebody else does same thing... and as you both get off at the next stop to try & figure out where the heck you're going, you strike up a conversation... and well, lets just say, my evening ended rather well... :)

Not too long afterwards, someone sent this message to my facebook inbox.
October 23 at 3:24pm
subject: wrong train

sometimes taking the wrong train might be part of God's plan for you

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Monday, October 25, 2010

Karate Like Mr. Miyagi

I talked to a friend of mine tonight.

But I can't tell you his name.

Reason being: he's a special agent. And if everyone knew he was, he might not be so special anymore. Instead, he might be dead. The bad people who read my blog might be inclined to go "get him."

If this is you, even if you do find out his name, I wouldn't recommend making such an attempt. He doesn't know karate like Mr. Miyagi, but he does carry a gun with him at all times - except when he goes to Dodger Stadium. I know this because he and I went to a baseball game over the summer.

Upon our arrival at the stadium, my friend flashed a special badge to a not so special security person. And that person immediately dropped everything she was doing to escort us to a special room in the stadium where he had to lock up his gun up for the duration of the game. (Evidently, some places in LA, not only have coat checks, but they have gun checks as well.)

The special room and the people in it were nice, but I was disappointed that the room wasn’t more like a box viewing area. There was no view of the field, except what you could see on the security cameras, and there were no free food or drinks. If they had my money, I would have wanted it back. But they only had his gun, and they did return it after the game.

But enough about baseball (unless we want to discuss the metaphor that parallels baseball and sexual activity - and, I'd rather not.)

As I was talking to my special agent friend on the phone, he wasn't as concerned about the bad people as he was about some girl who wanted to "get him" in a metaphorical baseball sort of way. He told me that he felt like he had some sort of stalker on his hands. I listen to him explain the whole situation and really, it was rather freakish – so much so that it could easily be worked into some movie plot. (And perhaps someday I'll do just that.)

(Still in works…)

So baseball… hmmmm…
I dated a baseball player once.

Sunday, October 24, 2010


(In works)

Actually there are two posts...both in the works

Facebook status October 23 at 2:14 AM

sometimes it's not so bad getting on the wrong subway train... because sometimes somebody else does same thing... and as you both get off at the next stop to try & figure out where the heck you're going, you strike up a conversation... and well, lets just say, my evening ended rather well... :)

Saturday, October 23, 2010

La Grande Jatte

Today I found The Great Lawn. To be honest, I'm not sure I knew it existed. I'd like to say that I did, but if I did, I might be lying. And typically I only lie to homeless people - specifically the ones who appear thirsty for whiskey and ask if I have any cash on me. More often than not, I lie, and say no.

I didn't lie to any homeless people today, but I probably past by a few as I was running to Central Park. No one slowed me down to ask for cash, but even if they had, I would have been able to say no, in all honesty, because I typically don't carry cash on me when I'm out for a run.

So I arrived at Central Park, lie free, and ready to explore "the ramble.” I quickly got lost in the maze of trails, but it wasn’t long before I came to a grass clearing, and a sign declaring the field, “The Great Lawn.” It was rather great, in that it was really big. It was filled with people and activity and it immediately reminded of the painting made famous by the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. If you’ve seen the movie, it’s the painting that Ferris’s friend Cameron stares at in The Art Institute of Chicago. And if you haven’t seen the movie, you need to… you’re missing out on one of the 80’s bests.

I somewhat foolishly considered that perhaps The Great Lawn inspired the painting. But after doing some Google research I learned that the artist Georges Seurat based his painting on the Island of La Grande Jatte, which is located on the Seine River in Paris, France – hence the name of the painting, A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grande Jatte. And, in pulling up the image of the painting, I quickly changed my mind about their similarity. Unlike the painting, The Great Lawn I saw in Central Park didn’t come with trees and a riverfront.

Regardless, I’m a fan of Georges Seurat - not necessarily because I love his work (I wouldn’t say that I do) - but rather I’m fan because he developed a new style of painting called pointillism. I love that he ventured out and tried something new. Seurat lived a short life, only 31 years, yet he left his mark. And I wonder how many of us are willing to explore and risk enough to do the same.


Tonight I attended a fabulous rooftop party in Midtown Manhattan. New York, I love you. God, I love you even more. Thanks for bringing me here.

Friday, October 22, 2010


I promise this isn't Balderdash...

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Guy Consultant

(in works)

I met with one of my guy consultants today. He happened to be in town so I set up an appointment to meet with him. He isn't one of my regular guy consultants, but there have been times in the past that I have sought him out and I think he does the job decently well.

We only had about 20 minutes to meet, which wasn't nearly enough time to thoroughly discuss and analyze my latest guy scenarios; however, it was enough time...

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Wrong Script - Again

For the second time, within less than a week, the script was all wrong. But this time, rather than being annoyed by the plot, I embraced it.

I feel I played my role decently well - which is great, especially considering I almost dropped the part altogether. I was hesitant to accept the invitation because, from my standpoint, the script seemed a bit odd and I thought I would feel awkward trying to enter the story.

But regardless, I agreed to move forward with the act - and I'm glad I did. Because in the end, I thought the script was rather clever - and funny. In fact, just thinking about it makes me smile.

I apologize for the vague and mysterious nature of this post. Sometimes life requires a bit of a time lapse before it allows you to write freely about its events - this would be one of those instances.

But I don't want to leave you with ambiguity, so instead, I'll leave you with a statistic - one that probably isn't factual:

The ratio of men to women in New York City is 1:7.

I learned this "statistic" at my small group Bible study this evening. And if this is true, then New York is a seemingly terrible place for me to live as a single woman in her early thirties.

I did some research research and discovered that Cha Cha almost agrees with this statistic, but not quite.

Cha Cha says, "The Ratio of women to men in New York City is about 6:1. The odds are better at single's with 6:3."

Ah yes, much better. Thanks Cha Cha.
So you're saying there's a chance?

Personally, I think there is more than a chance.

Monday, October 18, 2010

No Sleep Til Brooklyn

No Sleep Til Brooklyn. That's about all of the lyrics that I know of that song. I'm sure if I heard the song on the radio that I would be able to sing more, but it has been a while since I've heard any music by The Beastie Boys.

I use to love the Beastie Boys. Or maybe it wasn't me that loved them. That's right; I didn't. It was actually my brother who loved them. But he played their album enough on our daily commute to high school that I too developed a liking for their music.

That was in the early 1990s, when my family lived near Brooklyn, but it was Brooklyn, Michigan - not the Brooklyn that you'll find by taking the L train from Union Square. Tonight, I found that Brooklyn. I hadn't been there yet - or at least not since I moved to the city. But a lawyer friend invited me out that way to watch a movie, and since I'm a sucker for procrastinating in my grad school studies, I went. I reasoned that I could study on the Subway, but I didn't.

The people on the subway were much too distracting, and much more interesting than the text I attempted to read. And besides, I got nervous that I might miss my stop if I was too buried in the book. I am already prone to getting lost as is and I really didn't want to risk a subway mishap this evening.

So I finally get to where I think I'm going, but then I end up at the wrong house. I went to the one labeled 146 rather than 149. I'm not sure why I did this, but I suspect it may have something to do with football. Ever since my high school crush...

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Donut Craving

Saturday evening I decided to stay in and study. Sometime around 12:30, this craving came over me - I really wanted a donut. So I bundled up (because it's now cold in NYC) and set out to find one.

But instead of finding a donut, I found some paramedics, and ended up with an ambulance ride instead.

Everyone and everything is okay, but I still haven't found a donut.

But I did stumble across a rather curious item late Saturday afternoon. (Can 8 pm still be considered afternoon if you don't get up until noon?) After the Michigan football game I headed over to Union Square...

Friday, October 15, 2010


(Still in the works)

I had seen it at least once before. I know this because I have a picture of it in some scrapbook sitting in my parents’ home in Michigan, documenting my first trip to New York. Of course I didn’t know of its significance then; I just thought it looked cool, and since everyone else was taking pictures of it, I thought I better do the same.

So certainly I knew it was there; I just hadn’t made a point to find out the specifics of its whereabouts. I figured that I’d eventually stumble upon it, and this evening, as I was running through Central Park, I finally did.

I suppose I should explain…

And I will, but not tonight.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Watering Camels

“Katrina, just remember to water those camels.”

“So is that why I’m still single?! Because I haven’t been watering any camels? But Dad, there aren’t any camels in New York to water!”

I was on the phone with my parents and my dad was trying to give me some "sound" Biblical dating advice. He was referring to the story of Isaac and Rebekah and how the two became an item. It involved some prayer, and some watering of camels. Oh, and a nose ring - which I have, and some bracelets - which I don't have. (For the full story, you'll have to read Genesis 24. Actually, if you want the full, full story, you'll need to read the entire Bible. It's only then, in understanding the big picture, that Scripture and what Jesus did on the cross really starts to make sense. But I don't recommend starting in Genesis - start in John.)

Finding camels to water in the US is not such simple undertaking. I mean, I could water a dog, a cat, and perhaps even a horse or a llama, but a camel? Hmmm... The only time I recall being around camels is when I was in the middle of a desert in East Asia a couple of summers ago. I had taken a team of college students on a 3 week International Service Project trip and on one of our days “off” we went for a camel ride.

While we were out on our ride, my teammates decided that we ought to name all of our camels. I thought that was a great idea and so each of our camels received an English name. I can’t recall all of the names, but I do recall that several of the camels were named after extremely good looking men - men that I wouldn’t mind going on a date with if they were to ask – not that they ever would - especially since not all of the good looking camels were single.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Jimmy Eat World




You have the Script all wrong. That is not how it was supposed to go.

I already had this piece written in my mind before it even happened, but then this evening a darn curveball was thrown and it messed up my story. Boo :( So I attempted create another, distinctly different adventure, so now I have two - and not enough time to write either.

(More to Come)

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Sex God

(Still in Works)

I almost didn’t go. I wasn’t really “feeling” it - my monthly dose of acne is worse than usual (as are the rest of my monthly symptoms), and with my graduate classes back in full swing, I considered that perhaps I ought to simply stay home and study.

But for whatever reason I decided to go. It’s as if there was some sort of gravitational pull (perhaps God) luring me in and I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist it even if I tried (kind of like how I’m now in NYC). And so I made my way down Broadway, through Time Square, and arrived at our meeting point – a Starbucks on 49th Street – just before 9.

Perhaps the hesitation came because I had gone last week, and it wasn’t what I had expected. The crowd was a bit younger than I had hoped for and there were a lot less men than I had anticipated; in fact, there were none. But the topic was decent – at the moment the group is discussing the book Sex God by Rob Bell – and the girls in the group seemed decent well.

And so I was there - for the second Tuesday in a row. I had the book with me, but I hadn’t done the reading – at least not recently. I read the book 3 years ago, so the material was far from fresh in my mind, yet I managed to “cheat” my way into this evening’s discussion by commenting on what other people said. I think I fooled them rather well, especially since there was underlining in my book.

There were two passages in particular that stood out to me as I was thumbing through the book.

On page 98 Rob writes, “Love is handing your heart to someone and taking the risk that they will hand it back because they don’t want it. That’s why it’s such a crushing ache on the inside. We gave away a part of ourselves and it wasn’t wanted.”

At the end of the same chapter Rob goes on to say, “In matters of love, it’s as if God has agreed to play by the same rules we do. God can do anything – that’s what makes God, God. But God can’t do everything. God can’t make us love him – that’s our choice. Love is risky for God too. Which is a bit like a boy asking a girl to dance. ” (109)

But we didn’t just talk about the book. We also talked about…

Monday, October 11, 2010

The God Loves Me; The 91 Does Not

This morning I woke up to the ringing of my cell phone. It wasn’t the alarm I had set on the phone, but rather it was an incoming call, with a phone number that I didn’t recognize. I debated for a ring or two whether or not to pick up. After all, I was only half awake, and I knew that it was rather probable that my speech would be less than coherent.

But I picked up. And after the caller identified herself, she began to quiz me. One of the questions she asked me was really tough, and it took some self correction as well as prompting to get it right. Okay, so she wanted to confirm my New York mailing address, but that early in morning (it was 11) I couldn’t recall if I lived on 50th or 34th street.

There were other questions as well, and thankfully I answered them well enough for her to inform me that I would be receiving additional funding for grad school - as in, not student loans, but rather money that I would never have to pay back!

It almost felt like I had won the lotto, or at least some sort of mini jack pot game. And I wanted to update my facebook to say, “the gods love me.” But being that I am monotheistic, I didn’t feel comfortable placing God in the plural tense, and suggesting to the world that I had join some sort of religious sect that worships multiple gods.

So instead, I considered posting, “The God love me.” But the God sounded funny to me, kind of like how it use to sound funny to me when Southern California people would talk about their freeways.

In LA it’s the 71, the 91, the 101, the 405, the 605, the 5, the 10, the 210, etc. I never really understood the “the,” but when I moved out west, I quickly grew fond of it and implemented “the” into my freeway lingo.

To be finished…

Traffic... and the men you meet while you're stuck in it...

Sunday, October 10, 2010

The One

It’s taken me a bit, but I think I’ve finally found “the one.” Kim McManus, my mentor and friend from LA, recommended it. And Mike Duff, my 14 year old friend, as in, we’ve been friends for 14 years, attends it. It’s called Forefront – and I’m rather certain that it will be my church home for the next, well, however long I might be in this city.

Although it’s no Mosaic (my community of faith in LA), it’s clear that Forefront carries with it the spirit of Mosaic. And that might explain why Forefront canceled all of their services today.

I received an e-mail from Forefront this past week with the subject, “Skip Church Serve the City”

Don't come to church this week! This Sunday we will all skip church so that we can serve the city. Being a follower of Christ entails a lot more than just showing up to church. It should inform the way we live our lives and interact with this world. A huge aspect of our faith is serving others with the love of God. . .

. . .This is a great opportunity for us to model the type of love through service that Jesus Christ modeled for us.

Jacob Lange, who I have yet to meet, composed the e-mail, and it included a link to the various service opportunities available throughout the city.

So today, rather than going to church, I lived out church by serving with my small group…

Saturday, October 9, 2010

I Like It

I like it on the desk.

I like it on the table.

I like it…

The other day my boss spoke up over his cubicle, inquiring if anyone knew why his facebook friends kept posting “I like it” phrases. He gave a few examples, such as the ones mentioned above. Someone quickly volunteered the information that it was for Breast Cancer Awareness. In January “they” (whoever they are) asked women to post the color of the bra that they were wearing. This month “they” are instructing women to update their facebook status to state wherever it is that they like to keep their purse.

That evening, as I was running through Central Park, noting to self some great make out locations to keep in mind for the future, the “I like it” topic came up on one of the radio stations. (That’s right folks, I don’t own an IPOD; I run with a little AM/FM radio.) While most callers phoned in to say where they like it, there was one woman who was appalled that such facebook status updating was being encourage. Now personally I didn’t feel like it would be appropriate for me to post (ask me again when I’m married); however, I thought the idea was clever, in that it gets the conversation going in asking people what it’s all about. True, it blatantly carries with it sexual connotations, but so do fortune cookies. (Then again, I suppose I wouldn't be a fan of 10, 13, or even 15 year old girl posting the "I like it" statement as their status.)

On my way back to my place I tried to determine, hypothetically, if I were to up to update my status with Breast Cancer Awareness in mind, what would I say? Where is it that I like to keep my purse? (As I write, and on most days, my purse can typically be found on the floor in my living room – either that or my sofa.) Somewhere around 50th Street, I decided that if I were to change my status, it would say, “I like it when it isn’t taken or stolen by an undeserving party.”

I didn’t change my status, but I did consider myself almost brilliant for coming up with such a status – especially since Saturday (today), I was helping out with a fundraiser for Stop Child Trafficking Now (

I arrived on site at Lincoln Center shortly after 8 this morning.

More to come…

Friday, October 8, 2010

It Found Me

Let’s get this straight.

I never intended to be a writer. In fact, never once did I say or even think, “Gosh, I really want to be writer when I ‘grow up.’” I place the words “grow up” in quotes because without the responsibility of a marriage, a mortgage, and motherhood, it many ways, it feels like I haven’t quite reached the realm of grown up-hood.

Now, my brother, who isn’t grown up yet, and my sister who is, they pursued writing from an early age. In fact, both of them were writing articles for local newspapers by the time they were in high school. I, on the other hand, would write nothing more than an occasional entry in my journal – typically about some guy that I had a crush on that I wish would notice me. (Ah, some things never change.)

But again, let’s get this straight.

Writing found me.

I didn’t find it.

To be honest, I don’t think I’m the best candidate for being a writer. One of the words that my friend Jessica recently used to describe me is active. The act of sitting down and typing isn’t very active to me. In fact, it’s rather painful - kind of like how it is when I’m forced to sit still on airplanes for long periods of time. I’m way too kinestic to be sitting around reading and writing all day. Yet Stephen King recently told me (in a book he wrote called On Writing) that if I want to be a good writer, then that’s exactly what I need to do.

I suppose that’s another reason why it’s good for me that I made the move to New York. Granted, I still get to go running in Central Park, but I am no longer (sadly!), facing the temptation of day long rock climbing, surfing, or snowboarding excursions - not to mention the fact that I still have a rather limited social network. So far, since I’ve moved to the city, writing has become my closest friend. (And let me tell you, that’s kind of like becoming friends with yourself. Although I do find myself rather entertaining and can go long periods of time content in my aloneness – the reality is, I’m primarily an extrovert and I like people interaction. Thank God for my part time job as a Resident Director!)

I called my Dad just after 10 this evening when I was feeling less than inspired to write; I was hoping he might trigger the release of some sort of writing juice into system that would help prompt me in writing a piece.

All I had was, “Last night I had a dream that I ate A LOT of cake. I woke up smiling,

(piece in from other document)

And I didn’t think the cake story would really cut it. Although the cake was sitting out on a ping pong table and I could have talked about how the first question my dad asks whenever I meet a guy is, “Does he play ping pong?” I just wasn’t feeling the cake theme – it only made me want to eat some more.

So this evening when I called home, I asked my dad to tell me something funny.
“Something funny?” He thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ve got it. The other day I was telling a story about this comedian, but I couldn’t remember the comedian’s name. An hour after I had told the story, the name finally came to me.”
“That’s it?” I questioned, disappointed by the lack of humor. “Dad, that’s not funny. That’s memory loss.”

I kept him on the phone a little longer, before deciding he wasn’t much help so I decide to go for coffee, and then drop by the Empire State Building to pick something up – which is where I am now – suddenly inspired, and needing to get some of these words off of my mind and onto to a document.

But back to writing… and how it found me.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

I'm Prone

Not too long after I graduated from high school my brother told me, “Katrina, you’re the greatest little sister a guy could ever ask for – I never have to worry about you going out and doing stupid crap.” I believe what he was trying say is, “I’m freakin’ glad I never have to worry about you going out, getting smashed, and ending up in bed with some random dude.”

I suppose you could say that I’m prone to making good decisions. I’m not sure why - I just am. Some might argue that it is because of my family upbringing, but both my brother and sister have disproved that theory. I am the only one of the three of us who didn’t think to throw a wild party at our summer cottage on Sand Lake – and my parents even left me home alone there for an entire week my senior year of high school; I certainly had the opportunity.

Others might argue that my tendency to make wise choices is because of my faith. Although I think that’s part of it, and probably most of it, my faith didn’t become real to me until I was in college and I was making good decisions well before then. It’s not that I attempted to be a goody too shoes; I was just, as my mom has stated “a good kid.” And somehow, even with the skinny dipping episode, and our Spring Break trip to Daytona, my graduating class voted me Class Angel. (For the record, they also voted me Prom Queen as well as Most Likely to Succeed.)

I mean, I’ve certainly done some bad stuff throughout my life. Like when I was really little I shoplifted and stole a box of Tic Tacs from the grocery store check-out aisle; they were orange and yummy and my parents never found out. They did, however, find out when I cut the hair off of my sister’s Brooke Shields Barbie Doll. My sister was irate, and understandably so - with Brooke’s new hairdo, there was no hiding the sin that I had committed.

And then there is the one occasion in my life when I did drugs. Our family was living at a parsonage home in Owosso, Michigan at the time. And I hid (or at least I thought I was hiding) under our piano. I still remember popping pill after pill, taking them in like they were some sort of candy. I finished every last Flintstone Vitamin that was in the bottle. I must have been 4 years old; I haven’t touched drugs since.

In more recent years the poor choices I have made and continue to make include not wearing sunscreen, drinking way too much Diet Coke, talking to strangers, and running when it’s dark outside. But again, like I said before, in general, I’m prone to making good decisions.

I bring this topic up because I woke up this morning thinking about a friend of mine, whose kid, at the age of 13, insists on sneaking out of the house to drink and smoke pot with his friends. I have tons of respect for my friend, and I know he is an amazing Dad, yet his kid is doing his own thing. As much influence as he has in his son’s life, he can’t make all his son’s life choices for him.

This is interesting to think about from a spiritual perspective, because the reality is, the way that God set this world up, with free will (i.e. the freedom that we have to make choices rather than to be controlled by God like robots), He can’t, or perhaps better stated He won’t, make us make good decisions. Just like my friend knows what is best for his son, and it tears him up that his son is going his own way…

to be finished...

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Empire State Tribune

This evening I was interviewed by the Empire State Tribune.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Cardboard Boxes

Today I was told, "You'd have fun in a cardboard box!"

Thanks? I think.

It was over facebook chat at the end of my work day and the uncensored part our conversation went like this:

Him: on a plane to LA but there is no katrina

Me: that’s right… cuz i’m in my cubicle in the basement of the empire state building…

Him: how’s the city treatin you?

Me: i’m loooovin’ nyc
i’m surprised actually, how much the city already feels like home

Him: Im SO GLAD!!!
you’d have fun in a cardboard box

Me: ah… you’ve read old posts… is that where the cardboard box reference came from? or did you just make that up?

Him: no… just thought of it when i thought of how you’re always smiling

Me: it’s true… i’m glowing & lovin’ life…

I haven't seen "him" since the night we met at the Roosevelt Hotel in Hollywood - the same hotel that Marilyn Monroe use to frequent at the start of her career. But that particular spring night it was me, not Marilyn, who enjoyed a drink and good company at the poolside bar. That night, in and of itself, is worthy of its own piece of writing. I promise, someday it will receive the story that it deserves, but for now, I’m pondering cardboard boxes.

Because although I suggested in the facebook conversation that I had written about cardboxes on my blog or in a post, I later realized, I haven’t – at least not on my own blog. However, years ago I left a brief blog post on someone else’s blog.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003
"I still play with cardboard boxes." ~Marie

Marie Devonshire was my pen name, and I wrote those words in response to a post that the moderator of the blog had posted on October 27, 2003, a post that included the sentence, “I want heaven to be nothing more than life as an eternal 12 year old, with a never ending supply of refrigerator boxes…”

The blog still exists today (, and I’m glad it does because I consider it to be sacred space, because it was there that I first start to dabble in writing. Although I contributed only a half dozen or so pieces to the blog (mainly at towards the end of 2003 and at the beginning of 2004), at least two them were somewhat brilliant, and that’s when I started to believe that I had “it” in me.

Unfortunately I’ve been burying my talent for years (like so many of us do). I think because of fear or perhaps desire for the perfection that we know we’ll never be able to achieve. It’s as if we give up prematurely just so we don’t have face the possibility of failure. When the fact of the matter is, it takes much rejection and criticism to progress to that place of…



I can’t seem to find the right words to end this piece - perhaps because I’m still progressing to that place. Then again, maybe there is no place, and I will always need to keep moving beyond where I currently am. Hmmm, that must be it; there is no arrival, so lets keep moving forward.

Dear Him,
If you're reading this, I don't typically save facebook chat conversations. I was just inspired (or something) by ours and decided to save some of the content. I hope that was okay. Can't wait to connect once you're back on the East Coast!

Monday, October 4, 2010


If you're from New York, you probably know that I'm referring to a restaurant.

However, I admit, I also like to use the word spice to refer to the presence of romantic chemistry between two individuals – or the lack there of. More often than not I have stated that there's no spice. In fact, I don't think I've ever used the word to say there is, because spice isn't something that frequents my life. Although, this year, I believe that to be changing because there have been at least 3 occasions where I would say there was spice. But the spice was short-lived, or perhaps never developed into the potential that we both knew might be there. I'm not sure why, but that's life, and I'm no longer disappointed if spice evolves into silence rather than romance, because I'm finally convinced that if the spice veers away, then it simply wasn't meant to be. My Calvinist exboyfriend would attribute it to God's sovereignty. I often find talk of John Calvin, John Piper and not John’s but rather God’s sovereignty to be rather annoying. But I do think that it's good for keeping perspective – when it comes to relationships or other. Because it reminds you that you're not completely in control, and that there is a God who is bigger than any situation or life circumstance.

But tonight I'm not talking about spice, as in chemistry, but rather I'm talking about a Thai food restaurant. I was first introduced to Spice in 2003 when my friend Troy Yeager and I decided to roadtrip from the Midwest to NYC just days before Christmas. Our soundtrack for the drive was The Strokes, and as we listened to the CD we both confessed that we were intrigued by guitar players of the opposite sex that were much too young for consideration. We also talked about our long term crushes that we would both see in New York during our stay. Troy wanted to proposed to his while we were in the city; I thought that was a great idea, but his friend Todd suggested that perhaps he ought to be dating Stephanie before he pops the question. That conversation took place late at night on some bridge in Central Park. I can’t recall which bridge, but I do recall that both Todd and Troy pissed under it before we headed back to wherever it is that we were going.

Troy married his crush last summer. Mine, I've determined, will never notice me as being something potentially more than a friend. And in all honesty, I don't think I can refer to him as a crush anymore. I realized this not too long ago when I opted for sleep over talking to him on the phone. Regardless, he still makes me smile; I think he always will. Some people are like that. Actually, I hope I’m like that to a lot of people, or if I’m not, then I hope at least some of my writing is.

But back to Spice, tonight I went to the Spice located near Union Square with a friend of mine from LA. She has quite the career - one that takes her all over the world on seemingly fabulous adventures that, she told me, aren’t always as glamorous as they might seem. I think I understood, or at least I tried. I won't say much about her job because she is writing her own story, and I'll let her be the one to tell it. But I will say, it was great to meet up with a familiar face and I’m thankful for the time and conversation we were able to share together.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Ainsworth Adventure

So close, yet so far away... isn't that a song?
Hmmm... I don't think I can write on that thought - at least not publicly. Some thoughts are better held by the pages of a journal rather than an online blogs for the world to read.

However, I can write about last night's adventure... and I will... soon.

Soon is here.

I received a text sometime around 11, and by midnight I was on my way to 26th Street to meet up with my new, gosh, I really don't know what to call him. My boss would say boy toy, but I won’t. Can I say friend? I don't think so. He's too attractive and too new to yet call him a friend. And the reality is I may never see him again. Although he did say that he'd like to hear how feel about the city 6 months from now, so perhaps I'll see him in March or April. I think he picked up on the fact that when it comes to life in NYC, I'm still in some sort of honeymoon phase; I won't deny that, I am.

We met earlier that day at Professor Thom’s (for more on Professor Thom, see September 4th’s entry) and somewhat watched the 2nd half of Michigan’s football game together. We managed to sneak in some substantive conversation in between plays, and at the end of the game he asked for my number, mentioning the possibility of maybe meeting up later that evening. He seemed like a decent guy, so I gave him my number, but honestly, I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. But I am glad that he texted because I had been writing all evening and I was up for taking a break.

And so somewhere between 6th and 7th avenues, I stumbled across a place called Ainsworth, and within minutes I had located him and number of his friends inside.

More to come…

Saturday, October 2, 2010

My Most Recent

My football team's most recent win: Michigan 42 Indiana 35

My most recent contact added to my phone: Erik Goblue

My most recent meal: Shake Shack at Madison Square Park

My most recent adventure: I'm about to go on it right now...

Friday, October 1, 2010

The Middle of Nowhere

The other day I was meeting with a student and amidst our conversation she exclaimed, “I just want to go and find the middle of nowhere!”

I suggested, “You might want to try Indiana. Or better yet, Iowa. Yeah, you should have no problem finding the middle of nowhere in Iowa.” For some reason I was stuck on cornfields.

“Do you know what I mean though?” She questioned. I was beginning to sense that she believed that the middle of nowhere is a most glorious place – and that it was more about the experience than the location.

“Actually, I think I do. It’s that place where you pull your car over to the side of the road, and with your music blaring, you get out of your car and dance under the stars.”

I could have gone on to explain the brightness of the stars in northern Michigan that summer night. And that song by Jimmy Eat World that accompanied me in my moment... The song that starts, “The first star I see, may not be, a star. Can’t do a thing but wait, so let’s wait, for one more.” And the chorus, that questions, “Can you still feel the butterflies?”

The song’s title: For Me This is Heaven

It’s true; the middle of nowhere is glorious. And I’d encourage you to find it at least a few times a year, if not more. Perhaps we ought to attempt find it every day. Because it’s in the middle of nowhere that you feel most alive – where your soul is rejuvenated by the beauty of the moment, and no worry, care, or concern, can hold you captive. But rather you breathe in life. And the Creator smiles as He sees you in your fullness.

Another student shared with me this evening that unless he gets married on a Friday, that this would be the best Friday of his entire life. He hadn’t found the middle of nowhere (or perhaps he had), but rather he and two of his friends had found their way on to Jimmy Fallon’s late night show. As members of studio audience they were featured several times throughout the show. Greg told me that he had caught a slingshot monkey that Jimmy had flung his direction during the show. Jimmy told him that not only had he won the monkey, but that they would like to give him a stereo system valued at $10,000.

A bit later on in the show, Jimmy held up a fake/potential craigslist add, inquiring, “Who is Alec?” Alec is another one of my students who was sitting right beside Greg. Prior to the show all the studio audience members were asked to create a Craigslist add and Jimmy read Alec’s add, “Lost, Western Civ notebook in the basement of the Empire State Building. If found, please contact…” Jimmy then asked about the student sitting beside him – a girl named Brittany, who also attends The King’s College. He inquired, “So are you two dating?” They responded, “No” and a brief moment of awkward silence followed which then spurred on laughter by Jimmy and the entire studio audience.

Greg told me that the best part was at the end of the show when Jimmy came up to him and gave him a huge bear hug. I considered that if I hugged Greg, perhaps the hug that Jimmy Fallon gave him might somehow transfer to me. (I determined it wouldn't and refrained from hugging Greg.) Although I’ve never watched Jimmy’s late night show, I think he is unbelievably charming and humorous. Granted, most of what I know of him is what I’ve picked up in the movies, and may not actually be an accurate depiction of who he is; however, if given the opportunity, I wouldn’t mind going on a date with him. Then again, I kind of suspect he’s married.

Google check: yep, he’s been married for a few years now to Nancy Juvonen. Okay, forget the date; instead I’d like to be a guest on his show. Perhaps once my book is published he’ll invite me on his show to discuss its contents. I know I’m dreaming, but you never know. After all, living New York City use to simply be a dream and now it’s my reality. When you dream aloud, you never know who might hear your dreams, and what might come of them. And it may be a prayer that only God hears, but it could also be that friend or acquaintance who hears your dream, and decides that they want to help make it come true.

If you stumbled across this post, I would love for you to leave a comment, sharing a middle of nowhere experience that you have had. Or perhaps share a dream that you have – a dream, that perhaps you’ve been too afraid voice or to pursue. Speak it, my friends.