Dear Mr. Darcy,

Elizabeth Bennet’s long overdue letter to Mr. Darcy

Dear Mr. Darcy,
This letter is not easy for me to write. I have been putting it off for quite awhile now, but I need to write it. I need to write it for you, and I need to write it for me.

First and foremost, I shall swallow my pride, and apologize. Please forgive me for misreading you. I was caught up with myself. I was caught up in my pride. I was caught up in my vanity. I was caught up with Mr. Wickham. All I wanted to be was desired. Mr. Wickham did desire me. Or at least I thought he did. That was all a sham. His vanity desired my attentions. Like my vanity desired his attentions, so really we are one in the same, Mr. Wickham and I. And you loved me through it all and despite it all. You loved me despite my vanity and my pride; while I blamed you for pride that I really knew nothing about. Please forgive me.

Next, I want to thank you. Thank you so much for loving me despite it all. Thank you for pursuing me. I realize now that the desire wasn’t enough. Desire without pursuit is nothing. You pursued me after I so harshly rejected you (or as Kathleen likes to say, after I was a total B.) You pursued me in a way that could be special only to me and me alone. You didn’t merely desire me. You loved me: quirks, attitude, spirit, lack of piano skills (or not any), and all. I cannot thank you enough for that.

You are a man. A man after my own heart.

And by a man after my own heart I mean you are not passive. I have had more than enough passivity in my life. I am no longer amused by it. How was I ever amused? Passivity is not attractive by any means. I would go on, but I will save you from the hot mess that seeps from my bitterness. Nobody wants to read that.

You are intentional. Pursuit: How can there be anything else? And you keep pursuing me to this day.
By man after my own heart, I mean you are not cryptic. You say what you mean. I need that.
By man after my own heart, I mean you are flawed, but you are willing to work at it.

By man after my own heart, I mean you put up with my strong spirit, (some might call it difficult) and you love it.

Mr. Darcy, I could go on, but let me save the public domain from the sappiness.

My sincerest apologies and firmest gratitude,
Elizabeth Bennet
(and special commentary and input by Kathleen)

My Heart

My Vision Board.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Matthew 6:21 (NIV)

I'm such a magazine major.

SEC Football: It's Kind of a Big Deal

I still vividly remember the day I figured out that Georgia Football was more than just a game in my household. It was Saturday, November 2, 2002. I was a mere fifth grader. Before this day, football was just a sport to me. A sport my dad really liked. A sport my dad coached. I knew that in our household we cheered for the Georgia Bulldogs.  I knew that before I learned how to talk, I was taught to bark. Yes, Georgia football was prevalent in my life in those mere 11 years I had been living, but at that point, I didn’t understand that football was not “just” a game.

November 2, 2002 was a day to end all days. It was the Georgia/Florida game in good ole Jacksonville, Florida. The Dawgs were on fire this season. We were undefeated at this point. And then, like most of our games against Florida in these past 20 years, we choked. We lost. 13-20.

This didn’t mean much to naïve little 11-year-old Kathleen.  Sad day. We lost, but it happens. No big deal, right? Wrong.

After the game, I remember I needed to talk to my dad about something. What that was, I don’t remember, but that hardly matters in relation to the scene that followed.

I remember walking to my dad’s room. We basically have a no knock policy in my house. We have no regard for each other’s privacy. It’s common for us to just walk into each other’s room without knocking. So I went to my dad’s room and turned the handle on the door like I always did. It was locked. That was extremely strange for me. We never locked doors in our house. So I was forced to knock on the door, an action so foreign to me. My dad was not answering. I didn’t really get the hint that my dad didn’t want to talk to anyone because obviously what I needed to talk to my dad about was more important than anything else he could have been doing. Finally my dad came and opened the door. My mouth was open, ready to talk to my dad about whatever I needed to talk to him about, but quickly shut after I realized that his eyes were wet. My dad was crying. My big, strong dad was crying!
“What’s wrong?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

“I thought this was our year,” my dad responded, choking back tears and then went back into his room and shut the door.

That was the day that it clicked for me. Georgia football was not “just” a game in my house; it was a way of life.

I was enlightened that day, and my dad’s passion for the dawgs officially transferred to me. And since then I have been with the dawgs, win or lose. I was with them when they went undefeated, save Florida, for the rest of the 2002 season and went on to beat Arkansas in the SEC Championship game. I got a sweatshirt to sport that glory, and I still rep it proudly today because that year was my perspective changer. I was most definitely there when they went on to defeat FSU in the Sugar Bowl that season. (sadly not the National Championship game) I was there for them when they won the 2005 SEC Championship game. I was there for them when they went on to the Sugar Bowl that season, only to be defeated by West Virginia. I was there for them during the tragically beautiful 2007 season, also known as the BCS blues, where Tennessee went to the SEC Championship game instead of them because Georgia and Tennessee were tied in the SEC East, but since Georgia lost to Tennessee, Tennessee got to go, even though their season was going no where but down, and Georgia’s season was going no where but up. I was there to watch Tennessee lose to LSU, in a game that I know Georgia so could have won, and then painfully cheered LSU on in the National Championship game, thinking, “that could have been us” with all the other Georgia fans.  Sigh, the BCS blues. I was there to watch the dawgs DESTROY Hawaii in the Sugar Bowl that season. My freshman year at UGA, I was literally there to watch the dawgs have their first losing season since 1996. Now I am here to support my dawgs as SEC East Champions. You best believe I will be cheering them on in the SEC Championship game. (as underdawgs and all). 

Born and raised a Dawg fan, officially converted into a Dawg fan in 2002, I will be there to support them through thick and thin. National Title, we will meet again.

Disclaimer

I feel I’ve been misunderstood. Normally I wouldn’t care, but this has just led to way more controversy than I’m comfortable with.

So I thought I would provide a brief explanation of everything Kathleen. Okay, most definitely not everything, but certainly a huge part of my heart and soul:

My sense of humour. (Yeah, I did spell it the British way, and naturally, I only did that for the controversy.)

Which is obviously a huge chunk of who I am because I’m hilarious… 

Anyway, I love irony. It’s how I function. How I deal. How I love. How I hate. How I do.

How do I incorporate irony in my everyday life?

·      Blog Posts

·      Facebook Statuses

·      Pictures

·      Ideas

·      Interpersonal Communications

·      Intrapersonal Communications

And you people aren’t getting it! It is quite wearisome having to explain myself all the time. It defeats the purpose. You people.

So that leaves me with a few options:

1.    Continue explaining myself

2.    Stop explaining myself and accept that people are going to think I’m either (a) a pretentious douche bag or (b) a moron.

3.    Quit Irony Cold Turkey (and right before Thanksgiving too? I’m not sure about this option…)

I don’t really like any of the above options, so they’re not gonna happen.

But this blog post is happening. So consider this my disclaimer. (Oh, and I’m still considering getting that sarcasm bell. I really think that would work wonders.)

Warning: I’m ironic. And hilarious. And hot. And humble. (Yay! Irony!)

I would also like to provide a shout out to the people who do get my irony. I don’t know where I would be without you. Probably friendless. So thanks! ; )

Expectations vs. Reality

I really love that mainstream-indie film 500 Days of Summer. (Oh, hipsters, does that oxymoron bother you? I’m sorry. Sarcasm Bell.)
Yeah, you know it.

I think it’s quite the little gem, although, don’t even get me started on Zooey Deschanel…she’s so boring. Yeah, yeah, I get that these are fighting words, but I will stand by them…I digress.

There are so many great things about this movie from the witty screenplay to the awesome soundtrack to the unique art direction, but I must say that one of my favorite scenes in that entire movie and probably one of my favorite scenes in a movie ever is the “Expectations vs. Reality” scene. Genius. Absolutely genius. I think the whole concept should be its own movie.

If you haven’t seen 500 Days of Summer, let me give you some insight on this particular scene. You honestly don’t need to know the plot to understand it. At this point in the movie, the screen is split into two screens, and one screen is labeled expectations, while the other screen is labeled reality, and the scene is played out as such for the main character Tom: His expectations and the actual reality. The two different scenes start off so strikingly similar, and then the subtle differences start to come into action. How genius!?

The reason why I love this scene so much is because it is so relatable. Do we not imagine our expectations every day? Have in our mind exactly how our day is going to look?

I am going to study for this test and obviously get an A.

I am not going to say something stupid today and embarrass myself.

I am going to go on a hot date, and we’re going to drink hot tea and talk about good music, good films, Harry Potter, Jesus, college football, appreciate each other’s irony, and we’ll just be hot.

My day is going to go like this and this and this. Right?

My point being, we all do it. We all have these expectations. And these expectations we set up for ourselves hardly ever reflect what reality actually looks like. And we know why. Because life is unpredictable. We can’t control it no matter how hard we try. Oh, you don’t like that? Tough. So let me quote Remy from Ratatouille on this topic,  “The only thing predictable about life is its unpredictability.” (You better believe I just cross-referenced Pixar.) So you better get over it. And no, I’m not going to tell you to stop building expectations. That’s just silly. We’re human. It’s what we do. I’m just going to tell you that life’s most likely not going to happen the way you set it up in your head. I personally love that because it keeps me guessing! I appreciate the unpredictability of life. Sadly that means I haven’t been on a hot date where we talk about all of the listed above, but where’s the fun in me planning that. Sigh, expectations…

Yes, sometimes reality sucks.
But that’s okay because that makes the moments where reality is actually better than your expectations even sweeter.

Muse me.

Writer’s Block.
It sucks.
You know what’s worse than writer’s block?

Apathy.
Writer’s Block is the lack of ideas.
Apathy is the lack of passion. I think lack of passion is arguably one of the worst things in the world.

And I’m feeling it right now. Rather not feeling it.

If you know me, you know I thrive on my feelings. I thrive on my passions. That’s what motivates me to write. That’s why I write. Because I feel. And because I’m passionate enough about topics to give them the attention I think they deserve.

And if you really know me, you know my writing is only a mere reflection of how I act. Phew, if you can only imagine that! I’ve got that strong-willed spirit going on. At least that is what I like to call it. Others might call it interestingly dramatic. Still others might call it too much. Love it or hate it, that’s me.

So not feeling and not caring and not having anything to have expressive opinions about is KILLING me.

And I guess this is my lame excuse for my lack of posts recently.

I need a muse.