"Jeanie? Jeanie! JEANIE!"

I've had another couple lovely days...Molly threw a toga party in honor of her birthday Saturday night. Because I was driving, and I am "responsible", I had one beer and nothing else, and if life has taught any of us anything at all, it's that being the only sober person at a drunken party can either be the sixth layer of hell (or so), or it can be fantastic. I chose fantastic.

This morning, I went with Eric to Screen Door for breakfast, and I wish I had thought to take a picture of it, because it was, if nothing else, imposing. Goaded by someone else's Facebook bragging, I decided I needed to try the chicken and waffles, which is apparently their breakfast signature.

What I GOT was a giant sweet potato waffle with four huge pieces of chicken-fried chicken piled on top. The whole thing was held together by a giant knife. Yeah, that's right. And you know what? My body probably hates me, but it was so delicious. Most of it is in my fridge right now, which means tomorrow is destined for equal deliciousness.

Today was also the big relaunch of Emmaus church, and I have never seen that many people in that building on a Sunday night. The message was great (and will be posted here tomorrow for those of you who are interested), the mood was great, and my parents finally got to come down and see what the church was about, which meant a lot for me.

Tomorrow is another launch into the finding-a-job foray. To be perfectly honest, I kind of gave up last week, and am really hoping to knock out some good work starting tomorrow. In the morning I'll see if the house or the coffeeshop is the best place to do that. If I can manage to not have an interruption of someone wonderful (which of course, I always welcome) maybe I can actually do myself some good. As always, prayers, positive thoughts, tips, and good words with YOUR boss are always appreciated. :)

Before I go, I have to share this, courtesy of the Willamette Week, and spotted by Beth, under "Musicians Available":

"Crappy bass seeks crappy band to play crappy music for skanky ho's...Serious about improving, having a good time."

So, who wants to hire Jeremy? Oh, Portland, I love you.

"'I'm too blessed to be stressed' and other lies."

The past couple of days have given me fantastic laughs, an abundance of things to think about, and little sleep. The best part is that I spent most of Tuesday in one place.

I met up with a handful of Emmaus girls at Anna Banana's in St. John's yesterday morning, and it was a great reminder to me of how much I love being a girl. And I love hanging out with other women and being silly and funny and giggly, and just getting to share life that way. It also gave me a chance to tell a couple of the girls what I have been telling everyone for months: that they need to see Twilight.

In the interest of being honest, let me make it clear that you should not see Twilight because it is particularly scary, particularly romantic or even particularly good. You need to see Twilight because it is easily the funniest movie made in the last few years. It's unrelentingly serious and overdramatic, and any movie about a vampire who a) refuses to eat people or suck their blood and b) does not die in the sunlight, but rather sparkles, as though his skin were covered in thousands of tiny diamonds (that are most likely not conflict-free) is a movie you should see.

The vampire also tells the girl-in-question that she's his "own personal brand of heroin", and he sneaks in her room and watches her sleep. And if that doesn't make you feel all romantic and fuzzy, then apparently nothing will. So, in closing, go see Twilight. Have a beer first.

When the party broke up, I stayed behind with my laptop, "determined" to get work done. And in the interest of my own determination, I immediately texted my friend Matt, who lived nearby, and invited him to come have a coffee, which he did. Every time I hang out with Matt, somewhere around ten minutes in, I regret being in whatever public setting we may find ourselves. This isn't because Matt is embarrassing to hang around or ugly or overly political; it's because he makes me laugh so much and so loudly that I feel I should apologize to everyone else that they cannot possibly be having as much fun as I am.

So we did this, the talking about whatever crossed our mind or our path (for example, upon seeing this blog, Matt informed me that Brian Williams has a crooked face, which he then proved by Googling "Brian Williams has a crooked face". Other people think so, so it must be true.) for a very, very long time. And then, without much warning, the conversation took a distinctly serious turn.

I won't divulge the details of the conversation, but suffice to say that the conversation hinged mostly on the ideas of identity and personal value, and how we find those things in this day-to-day life. It was a conversation that made me thankful that I was able to be in that coffeeshop on a Tuesday afternoon.

The rhythm and cadence of speech and conversation has always fascinated me, and I tend to be extremely sensitive to shifts in mood or tone. And while we were still having fun, and making a joke here or there, everything changed. The volume of both our voices dropped (his more than mine, I'm sure), there was a lot less eye contact, and a lot of sudden detached interest in the art on the walls, the positioning of my hands, whatever else.

But here's the amazing thing: Matt and I have disagreed strongly on some huge issues in the past, points where we've had to realize that there was going to be no meeting closer than partway to the middle. And so, as I got to talk about my life, I felt sure that there were going to be points where Matt told me that I was full of shit, delusional, confused, naive, or any number of other things. But I decided to just be honest, and to not try to fit my story into any mold I knew. I told him that while I was not particularly happy with life at the moment, but that in the face of the most uncertainty I have ever known, I had joy. I told him that I knew what my identity was, even as it changed and shifted continually, and I knew that my work status or position had no bearing on my value. I told him that in the face of that, I still wanted a good job, and I was running on hope more consistently than faith. And it was all true.

It's possible that Matt may have really wanted to tell me that I was full of shit, delusional, confused, naive, or any number of other things. But he didn't do it. What he did was help me see that our stories, disparate as they may have seemed, bore a lot of similarities. I don't know about anybody else, but I find the idea that everyone else is, to some degree, confused and constantly trying to know who they are incredibly encouraging. In the face of that, I have been given joy that I can freely share. And I have hope for the future, a hope that maintains even when my faith is weak.

I was at home this evening and one of my roommates had a photo album out on the table in the main room. She wasn't home, so I suppose I was snooping, but when I opened the photo album I found something incredibly beautiful inside. Every page had pictures of people who were important in her life before she moved to Portland, and on every page she had written a part of her story of the last ten years, and how God continually showed Himself faithful in her life in that time. I don't tend to have much of a weak spot for stories of miracles, but all throughout her book, she explained how God repeatedly asked her to trust (sometimes with things that seemed devastating), and when she did, He repeatedly was faithful to supply what she needed.

It made me wonder how much of that I am doing in my own life right now. I know that I have trusted God many times, and I know that He has always been faithful, but the conscious decision to trust has been a long time in coming. I don't know how to do this well; I want to rush to extremes. And yet, I know no one can live there. I cannot announce that I am trusting God for all my needs, lay down, and sleep until He makes my life ideal. Likewise, I cannot push myself and work myself to the end, exerting all my effort and never prayerfully considering rest, and claim that I am trusting God when really I am only trusting me. And trusting me is foolish, to say the least. I have seen who I can be on my own, and it was not a pretty picture.

I guess all of this is to say that I don't feel like I know how to trust in the way I need to (I hardly know where to start), but I am willing to try. Most of all, it's because I know that my identity will become clearer when I see more of who God is, and who He tells me that I am.

"I like the one with the flat hair. He's my favorite."

My lofty goal of posting once per day kind of fell off this weekend, and since I know you were all sitting on pins and needles, I apologize. I do hope you all had a lovely long weekend.

Laura came for a visit Saturday, and breakfast (at 11:30 am) with her at Utopia Cafe was lovely and wonderful. She was one of my best friends at the seminary, and when she graduated, I had no idea when I would see her again. What a blessing! Add to that the fact that I get to see fellow graduates Beth and Gabriele in the next two weeks, and you have yourself a seminary girl party. And trust me, it doesn't sound like it, but they are the best ones...

Sunday I got to see Laura one more time before she left, when I met up with her and (yet another) fellow grad Crystal at Cooper's. Crystal and the owners are buddies, and so we got a tour of the new bakery space in the basement. They were making individual quiches that looked delicious.

Sunday was also the first time Emmaus Church gathered for a service in a long time. Our official relaunch isn't until this Sunday (and the beginning of the series "Jesus Hates Religion and You Should, Too"), but it was really good to see everyone together again. I am honestly stoked for next Sunday.

Tomorrow, aside from meeting with some of the Emmaus girls in the morning, the plan is to re-attack the job market, hopefully with a renewed energy. My parents had a barbecue tonight with me and some family friends, and of course everyone had some advice... at this point I really am trying to explore every avenue, but it's frustrating when people are offering advice that you really don't think will work, but there's no way (and honestly no need) to tell them so.

So, the job hunt once again. Prayers, positive thoughts, a good word to your friendly neighborhood employer will all be deeply appreciated. I'll do my best to be here tomorrow night again.

"There will be no babies getting pushed out of THIS [expletive] anytime soon."

The best part about the quote above is that it came to me just like that; the "[expletive]" was in place, no editing necessary.

Apologies for not posting til now... but I will say it's nice to know that many of you share my love of Mr. Williams.

I came home last night exhausted and headachey, and had to wake up at 5 am for a missional community training with Emmaus. I must love this church or something, because nothing gets me out of bed that early. And it didn't, technically; I hit snooze for 20 minutes, and then sat on the edge of my bed utterly motionless for another ten. That's my typical morning routine, but it's so much more painful when it's still dark out.

As sleepy as I was, and as much as I yawned, I enjoyed the time, as I always do. One of the things I love about it was evidenced at one point when two members of the group, one of whom is the pastor, had a disagreement. The details aren't reallly important, but here's what I loved about it. It was allowed. It was discussed and not ignored, it was promised that it would be discussed more soon between the two people who disagreed, and then it was put aside for the moment. No arguing, no disrespect, no deciding that the person who was not the pastor should just shut up and take the pastor's word as the only view. This is so rare in so many churches and faith communities, and it made my heart for Emmaus grow that much more.

The only other thing of note to happen since I was here last is I got to hang out with Eric for the first time in what felt like forever. When he got back from his vacation, I texted him and said, "I am inviting myself over to hang out Wednesday or Thursday, you pick."

As soon as I sent it, I regretted it. I have this complex that I have been fighting against for the last few years... I don't tend to be the inviter, organizer, etc. of any social events, be they parties or general coffee hellos, because my stupid brain tells me that people will come hang out more out of guilt and duty than real desire. So, says Heather's stupid brain, if you wait to be invited, they obviously really want to see you.

Stupid, right? But if inviting people out doesn't happen, you can imagine the impact inviting myself into somebody else's house, even a good friend's, would have on my neuroses. So then I got this text from Eric yesterday: "You should invite yourself over tonight around seven. We can have a little wine and order a pizza and watch Arrested Development."

And my whole life was better. Friends are great.

Before I left his house, I grabbed a couple of his books (Love in the Time of Cholera and Franny and Zooey, if you feel like keeping track), complained that he hadn't given me mine back, and got a lesson in How to Hold a Book when I flipped through Franny...

We're readers, and we're dorks. This is what we do. The conversation went like this:

H: (flip)

E: Aaaack.

H: What?

E: You're holding it wrong.

H: (pause) What?

E: You're bending it.

H: (looks at book, then the weirdo on the couch) It's a book.

E: Yeah, but you're gonna bend the spine.

H: It's a book. (My power in debate is unmatched, clearly.)

E: Yeah, but it's old. and the pages will fall out.

H: Eric, it's a book. (You're in awe, I know.)

E: Here, gimme it.

H: Yeah, please, show me what I am doing so horribly wrong. How else do you hold a book?

E: (holds the book open, like a 'v') Like this.

H: That is TOTALLY what I did.

E: Nuh-uh, you went like this: (he bends the book back dramatically, making it look like an 'm')

H: Fine, keep it then, if you're so sure I'm gonna ruin it. (Maturity is my best feature.)

E: You can read it--just don't kill it.

H: (rolls her eyes)

For the record, I have now gotten the book home, and have decided it is, in fact, very old, and the pages may, in fact, fall out. So I'm going to go read it very, very carefully. I promise.

"It's your birthday? Well, happy f&%$!g birthday!"

People are actually reading this, and I think that's completely wild. You know who you are (mostly because you are here right now, reading as we speak), and I say hello, thanks for being here, and feel free to say hi.

You know, I keep having these phenomenal days, and I'm afraid they're going to spoil me. The first mild, uneventful day I have may send me climbing the walls, afraid I have somehow lost my capacity for good, interesting times forever. Check me tomorrow, will you?

Today started off with lunch with Robin and Gabe, which then led into our friend date time, started by a run through the Powell's on Hawthorne (Baby Powell's, as I affectionately call it). Robin was looking for a book to take with her on her honeymoon, and I was just trailing behind, happily awash in the glow of so many books I will never remember to read. Though I had just praised Nick Hornby's "How to be Good" to the sky for her, and told her to read some Zadie Smith at some point, I didn't feel that either of those were really honeymoon-appropriate books. As we wandered up and down the aisles, asking one another if we had read this or that (usually responding with "no"), I confessed that Powell's makes me extremely lustful. I want to wrap the entire place in my arms and take it home, and more often than not I just end up talking myself out of it. I remind myself of the large, full bookcase at home, and all those stories waiting to be read.

I usually will have more than one book going at a time, as what I want to read tends to change with my mood. I keep a mix of novels, short stories and non-fiction around most of the time. This is the same reason I have so many cds in my car. If what I'm doing doesn't fit the mood I'm in, it won't work, or at least it won't work as well.

I also like to pass books along, unless they are my favorite. I have been keeping more and more books lately, though. I don't know for sure, but it feels like, since I haven't read for pleasure in so long, my brain has decided it loves everything. Or maybe, if I want to give myself more credit, I've become such a discerning reader that I know what I will love before I read it.

Robin ended up with some Umberto Eco, some David Sedaris, and some book I had never heard of that she swore everyone else had been talking about. I felt a little ashamed that I had recommended the Sedaris and not the Eco, but that's always what happens. In the face of the literary, political and poetic, I will almost always go for the starkly comic and honest. I'm not sure why this makes me feel less cultured, as I believe humor is as much a talent and a gift as any other kind of art, but comedy as a whole has been so diluted by the cheap and the easy that it can often get written off as an entire form. Personally, I hope Robin reads David Sedaris on her honeymoon and leaves the others behind...

We continued the conversation at Sound Grounds, where I am happy to say we had the best service we've ever had. There's a stereotype about Portland restaurants and cafes, basically that the servers will treat you like they hate you, and like you have interrupted a deep meditation or a private party when you request service of any kind. I hadn't been to Sound Grounds in almost a year because they had seemed to fit the stereotype so perfectly... I had stood at the cash register and waited for the staff to finish their conversations or tickle fights or whatever too many times, and so I stayed away. This time, I am glad to report, the coffee, the service and the conversation were all delicious.

Robin asked some more about the blog, and I updated her, and told her about my early paranoia about writing at all. We talked about Beer & Blogs (she's set on attending when she comes back from the honeymoon), and we talked about the impulse to compare ourselves to the creativity of others (see yesterday's blog). I realized, after picking this blog and my language apart in my head, that what people most say they love about my stories is not their eloquence, their freshness or even their wit: they say they love the storytelling. And so then, I decided, I should just be faithful in telling the stories, the mundane and the glorious alike (and so often the same). The rest will take care of itself.

After I left Robin, I picked up my friend Ashley and her new roommate, whose name I do not know how to spell properly and so I will not butcher it here. We headed down to Fernhill Park for Emmaus' first ever free hip hop concert. In the interest of being honest, I have to say that I drove there with some trepidation. Brand-new things are always hard, and no matter how much you promote them, there's always the potential of plenty of things not working out. When we got there, things were running a little behind, and I thought, "Oh, my goodness, this is gonna be a mess." I was proven so wrong.

I had only ever heard two of the five performers (Ragen Fykes and Theory Hazit) in action, even though all five of them attend Emmaus. But every single one of them (Da'rel Jr., Propoganda and Odd Thomas were the other three) did an incredible job, and the crowd grew as the evening progressed. I was manning a table with chips and water for people, and it was so fun to watch people enjoy themselves. I don't know how many people were there; Courtney came out for it, and she thinks there were between 100 and 200 people. While I think those numbers seem high, the point remains: the turnout was incredible.

I have never been a big fan of hip hop, have never followed the culture or had reason to do so until now. But two things impressed me about today. Firstly, it was clear that this type of event does not happen often, and so it was special for the people involved, both the performers and the crowd. And secondly, I found myself with a new respect for these folks as artists. The music was good, the rhymes were smart, and I honestly enjoyed every moment of it.

Today was Christina's birthday, and she had told me that she wanted to go to this live-action Star Trek re-enactment at the Baghdad, and we had laughed and laughed. So, shortly after the concert ended, Courtney, Christina and I and some other friends found ourselves at the end of a very, very long line to get in. I grumbled inwardly and shuffled along, posting from my phone onto Twitter, asking how I got here and announcing that I felt very, very lame. And then guess what happened?

(Photo courtesy Courtney Durham)

I laughed my face off. I have never liked Star Trek, and somehow I have always had friends who were fans. But I had no idea the cultural significance of the episode we were witnessing, replayed in simple, post-high school senior play fashion. For any of you Star Trek dorks (and I use the term affectionately) out there, this was the episode where Spock needs a wife, and at some point he and Kirk (who is not only his o captain, my captain, but also his BFF) are in a fight to the death for some Vulcan girl in a gold dress.

Trust me, it was hilarious. The movie followed, and I have to admit, it was the second time I have seen it, and I really like it. J.J. Abrams somehow managed to make Star Trek sexy and fun, which I would have told you was a feat that was utterly impossible. Watching it with this crowd, however, was an experience. Every new character that appeared, every knowing wink to the original show, got hoots and hollers and such a dorktastic ruckus that I leaned over to Courtney and said, "What am I doing here?"

It reminded me of the time, in college, when the second Lord of the Rings movie came out, and my friend convinced me that we needed to go to the first showing on the first day that it opened. We ended up sitting in the very front row, directly in front of two guys who were dressed in full chain mail. As they clinked and clattered through every moment of the film, I leaned over to my friend and whispered, "Who ARE these people? Does the fact that we're here right now make us like them? We're not like these people, are we?"

The fact is that I am exactly like these people, which is why I found myself in a crowded theater laughing at a bunch of people being silly on stage. I'm like these people because while I may not embrace the culture as they do, and I may in fact be a total stranger there, we're all there for the same reason. We're there because we like the ridiculous, the fantastical, and maybe the oddly familiar. And who doesn't like laughing?

In a sense, I was in two unfamiliar territories today. The hip hop culture and the Trekkie culture may appear to have nothing in common (aside from me not being a massive fan of either), but today showed me that both will make space for whoever comes in, however they choose to do so, and for however long they plan to stay.

There's probably science fiction rap somewhere, right? I hope I never find it...

"That's not even the funny part!"

There's been something oddly beautiful about the last couple of days. Neither has gone as planned, neither has been as productive as intended, and yet both have managed to give me more peace than I have experienced in quite a while.

I hung out with my missional community from Emmaus last night, and ended up at the Browns' house until after midnight. I kept feeling like it was time to go, and felt badly for having invaded their house for so long, but each time I thought about leaving, a new topic was brought up and I HAD to stay.

The missional community has been a changing experience for me. Extroverted as I am, I typically hate things that are in groups bigger than three, and so the idea of committing to meet weekly with a group that grew consistently was hardly appealing. But in a very short time I found that it was honestly a joy to be with other people who weren't afraid of wrestling with the hard questions of life, and who were dissatisfied with the perfect, packaged answers they had been given. I found people who were willing to be real, even when that meant admitting failure, or asking questions that were selfish, or even simply confessing that sometimes the mere ideas of God and faith plain wore them out and made them wish for home and a strong drink.

The best nights were when we recognized, again and again, that we were all experiencing the same questions, the same failures, the same confusions. And in the midst of all of that, I discovered that these were people who I loved. So the girl who hates groups found herself waking on Thursday mornings excited to see these other confused, excited, frustrated and joy-filled people Thursday night, and that has never happened before.

Today was similarly filled with friends, but each meeting was one-on-one, over coffee, gelato and Arrested Development, respectively. If I could get paid to live my perfect life, I think it would look like today. That might be incredibly hedonistic, but it seems that these kind of days are what I'm best at. If I can hang out, share stories, share time, and write, I don't know what else I would need. Everyone has that, I think: some people would fish all day; I would talk and listen and drink coffee. And today, Jessie, Ben and Christina managed to give me that.

Jessie and I went to Anna Banana's in St. John's, and we talked about her trip through Italy, and dozens of other things. These are my favorite conversations. You start with a goal, something like your recent travels, and by the end of the couple hours, you've covered the country, your love lives, the best book you've ever read, the state of the health care system, your aggravating coworker, the last time you cried and your favorite recess game in third grade. (For the record, these topics are not what was discussed, but you get the idea.)

Ben and I went to Staccato Gelato (a shocking break from the normal ice cream routine), and it was again a lovely exercise in "Why on earth are we still hanging out?" Ben and I went to college together, and when he graduated, he would come down every few months and visit. Over time, everyone but me drifted to other towns, and we kept meeting. Eventually it became a monthly event, and it has continued since my move to Portland. I see Ben nearly every month, we have ice cream, we don't talk a whole lot, and yet somehow we both enjoy it. And three weeks on, we're texting one another, saying that's it's almost a new month, and are we going to see each other soon? It still makes little sense to me, and that makes me love it more.

Christina lives just across the road from me, and navigated her seminary career alongside mine. Now we've both graduated, managed to move a couple blocks from campus, and had multiple existential crises (Technically, I can't say for sure she's had an existential crisis. But I know she's helped me through mine.). She baked a delicious banana bread (without nuts, the correct way), I brought a bottle of leftover sparkling cider I stole from Robin's wedding stash, and we watched Arrested Development and laughed and laughed some more. I never seem to get tired of being around her...she's bubbly and joyous, but grounded and realistic at the same time.

All of this has reminded me, for the thousandth time this summer, how blessed I am by good friends and supportive people. It doesn't seem to matter whether the issue at hand is vital or insignificant, or even if there is no issue (though this is incredibly rare)--I always have someone in my corner. This blog is a perfect example of that.

No one has seen this blog, except possibly for the friends I have followed. The address has not gone out--only a mention that I have started one. The amount of encouragement (and apparent interest) has been incredible. Whether it's worthy of the interest will remain to be seen, but I have been so surprised by the response. I figured that the mention of launching a blog would gather a collective yawn, sort of like the mention of getting a tattoo. Everyone's done it, and people are interested to see the results, maybe, but they're hardly going to bother going with you to get it done.

Meanwhile, I have people promising to read it, an offer for guest pieces on the page, and an open invitation to Beer and Blog, along with a buddy so I don't just wimp out and stay home. All in all, it sort of heightens my sense of uncertainty, but in a gorgeous way. I hesitate to use the last two days as some kind of micro-view of my life, but it's there already, so let's run with it.

Nothing in my life has changed in the last two days. I don't have a job, don't have more money, and have not met anyone new. Even without any formal or formative change, I feel like things are happening, things are brewing, things are starting. I'm sure it's partly due to the new creative outlet, if we can call this such a thing, but I think it's largely the repeated realization of the amount of love and support I have around me. The fact that there are people who want to hang out with this girl, who trips regularly, talks too loudly and too much, curses at traffic, spills things, is overly opinionated, breaks things, doesn't return phone calls, forgets things, is tragically unhip, drops things and is constantly overdramatic and longwinded astounds me.

It tells me I am in a very good place.