Shell-ebrate Good Times.

There’s this packet of tissues I carry that have been through the ringer.

Pink in color, with a cat in a crown (of course), these are the tissues I use whenever I have a public breakdown.

There haven’t been many of them, but they’ve been memorable, haunting enough for me to associate these tissues with my severe depressive episodes.

The first was in Los Angeles, when I was dropped off at LAX after staying the weekend with a boy.

I remember distinctly getting inside the airport doors and my tears letting loose like a broken dam, emotionally overwhelmed and unable to hide my ugly crying face.

The second, more recent time I used this handy dandy packet of tissues was just a few days ago, on my last afternoon on the island of Kauai.

My two best friends from college, on our bi-annual get together, all met on the beautiful beaches of Hawaii and on my last day, I had a meltdown.

I was triggered, by a boy, and unable to control the emotions that were clogging every oraface of my body, I let loose in the backseat of the Jeep, tears flowing out like the Kaulia Waterfall. Even more embarrassed that I was, in my head, ruining our last precious hours together, the situation worsened, after my arm became numb and I began hyperventilating.

Eventually, after blowing through my tissues until there was nothing left but soggy remains, I bravely texted them I needed to stop the car, and in the middle of a parking lot in Kauai, roosters crowing around us, we had a heart to heart.

A completely unexpected conversation, but one of the highlights of my trip.

See, there was a reason I broke down when I did, and who I did with. And it reminded me of the power of friendship, especially with the girls I was traveling with.

Being able to express myself, even when that expression is sometimes as ugly as I’m sure I looked, in front of these special humans, is what true friendship is.

It’s acceptance of each others flaws, it’s comfort in knowing that you have a shoulder to cry on, and a friend to wipe rainy mascara off your cheeks. It’s beauty in believing that your friends will be there for you through thick and thin, and this was thin for me.

When I look back on all of the fabulous fun filled days I had in Hawaii, my favorite moments were the in betweens. It was the driving to the destinations, the top-off-the-Jeep, sun coursing through, wind in our hair, singing Moana at the top of our lungs kind of moments. It was my friend mispronouncing “luau” as “luHOW”, it was watching the two of them skipping in the rain singing “Be a Star” from the movie Life-size.

And it was them coming to my aid when I needed friends the most.

Though I still suffer through post-vacation depression (like bursting into tears whenever sand falls out of my clothes), I write this and feel fondness for the trip I just had, rejuvenated and freshly tan. And I know that these memories have only just begun and that as the years go on, I’ll have more to make with these two.

And we’ll continue to shell-ebrate good times, and get through the bad times.

Together.

Cause that’s what real friends do…

Many thanks to Whitney Sutherland, the photography queen, for all her gorgeous photos.

Home(owner) Alone.

It has been but five months since I got the keys to my first house and lived as a twenty-four year old homeowner.

I’ve experienced a lot since then, as you can only imagine.

Let’s see, I discovered my lack of cooking knowledge, like not knowing you had to peel the skin off an onion before cutting, and that “pulsing” pesto doesn’t mean interpretive dancing with your spatula.

I learned the difference between a nail and screw (and which appropriate tool to use for each).

I discovered the epic use of crawlspaces- so much storage!

I can proudly say I know what a GFI is, and can kind of sort of explain my way through its importance.

I also learned that you have to have air flow in your house or moisture will create mold on your windows (NEVER welcome, thank you very much).

But some of the more exciting things I’ve gone through, the more riveting tales, the heart pounding lean forward with rapt attention kind of stories, have come in the form of frights.

See, since being in my home, I have experienced two encounters with a Cat Burglar, and a Peeping Tom.

And I shall share both of them with you!

So pour yourself a cocktail, settle in, and come with me on this exhilarating retelling of my experiences…

Cat Burglar

It was, as I recall, early morning, when the sound of footsteps awoke me from my sleepy slumber.

I remember distinctly that I was lying on my back and that the muffled noises seemed to be coming from the direction of my kitchen.

Heart beginning its terrifying journey into rapid pounding, I lay there in a complete and total panic.

You know how when you come face to face with danger and you either fight or flight? Yeah, well I did neither.

Instead, I did the other f word.

I froze.

Stuck to my bed by the sweat that was slowly collecting itself all over my body, I thought of my options. I could call 911, the sensible option. I’ve seen too many episodes of Dateline to ignore the incessant suggestions coming from my conscious. Or, I could wait and see if whoever’s in my kitchen goes away.

Well they didn’t go away. And though I couldn’t hear typical sounds I would expect from a burglar (or worse, an assaulter!), the unmistakable sound of muffled shoes in my kitchen continued.

So what did I do?

I WENT TO INVESTIGATE.

Looking back now, I see my choice as poor and ill informed. Why didn’t I listen to my conscious?

Crawling out of bed, as quietly as could be, I grabbed my phone, dialed 911 so it was ready to go at a moment’s notice, and I WENT TO INVESTIGATE.

I know what you’re probably thinking: this is the stupid move that the dumb blonde makes in the horror movie right before she dies. I was thinking this too, and yet I did it anyway.

So there I was, a six feet two inch woman, completely in the nude (again, what was I thinking?), tiptoeing my way to find out who and why someone was in my house.

Physically shaking and not quite prepared as to what I would do when I would come face to face as a naked woman to my burglar, I drew near the kitchen anyway. And all of a sudden, my cat Guji came bolting out.

No.

No way.

My “cat burglar”?

Was a cat.

A cat that was playing with the tassles on my shoes, the very sound I thought belonged to an intruder.

If you thought that was scary, wait for…

Peeping Tom

This one was more recent.

It was a weeknight, an ordinary evening.

There I was, doing dishes and watching Netflix on my phone, which was perched on my windowsill, when I noticed something in the snow just outside.

Peering closer, and as visible as day, were footprints.

Hmm. Peculiar, considering I hadn’t walked in my backyard since our last snowfall.

Even more curious, however, were the direction in which these footprints were headed, which seemed to lead directly to my bedroom.

Wiping my hands and abandoning my post at the sink, I then went to my bedroom, fearing the worst.

Sure enough, when I pulled back my curtains, I saw, to my absolute horror, footprints leading directly to my window.

No.

No way.

We’ve established by now that I sometimes walk around my house in the nude (who doesn’t? It’s my house and I’ll (not) wear clothes when I want to), but I make sure to always keep my curtains drawn. Nevertheless, the thought of a “peeping tom” even near the vicinity of where I sleep was incredibly concerning.

Once again, instead of reporting it or staying put, I WENT TO INVESTIGATE.

Will I ever learn?

Phone flashlight on, I soon discovered that these prints were coming from my neighbor’s and that there were now two sets of tracks.

Great, multiple peeping toms. Just what I need!

Hugging the house, I followed their path and walked closer to the real concern of where these prints were headed: my window.

As I drew near, as my heart skipped a beat as to the anticipation of discovering the evidence I was so scared of finding, I saw that these “peeping tom” prints actually belonged to a “peeping moose.”

That’s right. Like right out of a textbook, classic Alaskan moose tracks.

Ayy.

So “cat burglar” is the nickname for my cat Guji and “peeping tom” is the name of Tom, the neighborhood moose that I now see nearly every day.

And their stories I share.

What I learned, besides freezing on two occasions in which I logistically should’ve reacted smarter, was that life as a homeowner is certainly not for the faint of heart. It’s a thrill and I am constantly learning.

I also might want to collect some empty tin cans for a possible boobie trap. Next DIY project perhaps?

Because who knows what my next story will be…