10 things I would tell to my 17-year-old self:

1. Don’t stress too much about deciding which college to go to. You’ll end up going to 3 different ones anyway and your best friendships won’t come out of class.
2. Don’t get such an attitude with Mom and Dad about them trying to keep you out of debt. Graduating without loans is the best thing ever.
3. Try to stop working so much.
4. A series of really hard circumstances are about to start coming at you fast, and they’re going to hurt. It’s not because you’re being punished. It’s just the way life is, and it gets better.
5. If you could see what God is trying to work and build into you right now, you wouldn’t be fighting Him so hard about it.
6. Don’t wait until 18 to get the swoopy side-bangs. Get them now.
7. Who cares if you’re driving a 1989 maroon Buick Century with paint peeling off the front bumper. You have a car. And it’s really comfy.
8. Spend as much time as possible with your little brother and be really good to him. You won’t get to be in his life after next year.
9. Stop worrying. Just stop.
10. Hit highway 41 going north until you get to Proctor Rd. Turn right, and keep going until you find Sarasota Baptist Church on the left. Go on a Sunday morning and find the 11th grade Sunday school room. There’s a girl named Michelle in there who is a riot and she actually understands what your life is like because her dad is a pastor and she moved around a lot too. Meeting her and her friends is going to make your senior year. Don’t be shy. They’re going to think you’re really cool even if you don’t think you are.

[I stole this idea from Jeff and Sara. You do it too]

all that complaining we've been doing about the weather finally paid off today

You know when you're wearing a yellow dress, white cardigan, and grey flats and you run into another girl at the coffee shop wearing a yellow dress, white cardigan, and grey flats?

It's awkward.

I got a road-trip. You get a video.

3 Girls in a Rental from bethany boatwright on Vimeo.

Hi. I'm in Boulder.

Kansas City was too hot. One hundred and eight degrees, actually, which is far too many.

I climbed a mountain with my friends this morning. This makes a person feel like they've done something worthwhile.

I got a new book

My computer died.

I tried standing on my pride.

Then gave up

Called my parents

And cried.

They said they would love to help me if I would let them.

So long pride.

Hello to this new babygirl:

music by Animal Collective

davidramirezmusic.com

On Monday night at the Record Bar, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of David Ramirez and listening to a few of his songs.

He walked onto the dimly lit stage alone after a lighthearted sweetheart finished her opening act. The crowd was undeniably small even after it doubled when he started singing. I could tell that he didn't trust us, and I later understood why.

David didn't have any other musicians around him to joke with between songs. He didn't have any other instruments to cover him if he made a mistake. No back-up singers if his voice cracked. He had one friend in the crowd, I think. No one bought any of his merchandise before he went on, maybe they did after. The strangers who paid money to get in were chatting amongst themselves before his set and they didn't necessarily stop when he started playing.

He sang songs about pain and loneliness and love and enemies like time that you can't control or even spite. He has this one song about his parents' love that I really like. He has another about the sick feeling of satisfaction you sometimes get when you hurt someone else. Crushed hopes and failed expectations are laced in with some of his love songs.

I am continually impressed with artists (and anyone, for that matter) who can be honest in risky situations. I know those songs are incredibly expensive to David, and he presented them to viewers who could have been indifferent about his work. I thought that was very brave.

David Ramirez - Shoeboxes // LIVE from Brandon Tauszik™ on Vimeo.

Cheers

Last Saturday, I went to a wedding. This Saturday, I'm going to a wedding. My friends keep falling in love and throwing parties over it. I'm so glad Jewel and Greg are married. They really, really wanted to be married to each other. And Dan is my good brother. He fell hard for Kandace (read: hot nurse), which is turning out just dandy.

My buddy Tom and I propose a toast to all you marrieds for giving us reasons to dance.

Photo cred: Amy G. Who else?

This just decided:

Sister trip to France is happening next summer.
Megan and I are going to save our dollars and go back to to where we grew up for a couple of weeks. My french is sleeping in my brain and I will wake it up and give it a work out. Our parents have friends there who will bend over backwards to come get us from the airport and let us stay with them. They will make us our favorite meals and stay up talking at the dinner table until early in the morning. We will probably meet up with our childhood playmates and try to connect on our grown up lives across different cultures and it very well might fail, but the attempt will mean a lot. Babies that I knew are teenagers now. We'll go to Paris for a couple of days and I'll tour the Louvre with genuine interest instead of loathing boredom. My 6 year old self had a low tolerance for the greatest works of art that humanity has to offer. We'll pay in Euros, not Francs, to visit the Eiffel tower, and we'll take the stairs. I really want to take the stairs. We did it that one time and counted to 1300 and something. The slowly elevating view of the city is worth it.

I really should go to that concrete schoolyard with the orange bars and teachers who hit and scream and see how small it looks now that I'm 16 inches taller.

We might do that thing where we speak English to each other because it's more convenient until someone else on the metro makes a snide comment about Americans. Then we'll address them about it in perfect French. That's always fun.

We'll probably bicker. We're good at that. We'll probably laugh ourselves to stomach cramps too. If we go late enough, we can jump the hay bales at the end of our old street. Watch out for stingweed.